Chain Reaction
by T.L. Arens
Summary: Casefic. NCIS is called to Darby, MT to investigate a campground massacre. The team expect to find a serial killer but when paranormal investigator Dean Winchester and his wacko partner tamper with the crime scene, they are forced to face an enemy at two fronts. And the children are disappearing.
1. Darby

Supernatural: Chain Reaction: Perspective

A/N The author does not apologize for the content of this story. Rated T for horror scenes and some language. For those who have not read my other story, 'Edge', this takes place post-Swan Song. Dean and Sam derailed the Apocalypse. But that doesn't mean there aren't other consequences. Upon Sam's return (from his three-and a half year tour) in Hell, the world is plunged into a Neo-Dark Age where creatures of myth exist alongside modern man. Fallen angel, Abaddon, attempted to open the Abyss and release a demonic army. The spell went awry and shattered Castiel's Grace. Now the fragments lie in several unknown locations. In order for Castiel to even return to Heaven, all the pieces must be found.

For Xenascully and Trinity Clewtician.

Chapter 1

Darby

_...You were taken from Lucifer and given to Dean..._

"Help me," Sam softly sobbed in his sleep. "Someone...someone..."

Marco yawned lazily and rolled onto her back. Early morning light pushed its way past dusty curtains. Sam spoke in his sleep until he moaned and wept again. The shiver along her spine warned the large rottie-shepherd mix of her charge's oncoming violent dream. With a snort, Marco trotted out the room and down the worn staircase.

Bobby's house sat in sleeping silence. Blue shadows from a lazy, pre-dawn sky fell through dirty windows. The large dog eyed the kitchen through the livingroom archway. The house, usually noisy with activity, rang quiet, stilled by unguarded occupants. Marco panned her gaze left into Bobby's study. She nosed her way past the door and sniffed for signs of human occupancy.

The strong scent of whiskey, gun oil and leather drew Marco to the familiar sight of Dean draped over Bobby's desk in the throes of a reluctant sleep. A laptop glared at Sam's brother while it waited his input. Marco sat beside Dean and waited five seconds before emitting a soft whine. Her ears lifted marginally as the sun hit the study windows, peeking round neglected drapes.

Marco panted twice and whined again. Her right ear twitched when Sam, a floor above her, whimpered in phantom pain. The rottie sat up on her haunches and nosed Dean's elbow. Dean drew a deep breath but did not move. Marco sensed Sam's slow descent to panic, trapped in his dream. She rose again, paws on the desk, and tugged Dean's sleeve with her teeth. She released him but he failed to respond. Marco repeated the contact and added a low growl.

Dean moaned. His lifeless body bitched of aches and pains, of a throbbing head and an unwelcome morning. He about jumped out of his skin when the dog barked sharp and loud.

"Bitch!" he snapped back.

"_Rrrow, ow, raow_!" Marco snorted and dipped the front of her body lower than the back half, as though ready to pounce on the desk. A hard thud followed by breaking glass called Dean's attention.

"Shit!" Dean leapt out the chair, out the room and half way up the stairs. "Sam!-" he froze mid-motion. His brother stood at the top of the landing and stared into nothing. Dean dropped his tone, "Sammy?" Dean cautiously approached his brother and guided him a few feet from the stair case. "How about we put you back to bed, okay? Coffee and Danish are available from eight to eleven A.M."

Sam drew the puppy eyes and swallowed hard. "I miss you, Dean," he said with a broken voice. "I will always miss you." he drew breath to stabilize himself.

Dean stared, torn between uncertainty and the awkwardness of his brother's painfully emotional moment. "Sam, can you hear me?" he tested. He waited for a response and when nothing came, Dean safely assumed Sam still slept. "Okay. Soul-bearing moment over. Let's tuck you back into dreamland before you get Marco even more excited." He led Sam back to bed and set the bed stand upright. The room's ugly lamp lay in too many pieces to glue back together. He picked up the shards and deposited them in the trash and tugged a small rug over the rest so Sam wouldn't cut himself later.

Roxi, their sweet border collie, padded in and hopped on Sammy's bed. Her eyes glued to Dean as though asking permission to sleep with Little Brother. When Dean did not object, she circled a spot once and plopped down, her head rested on Sam's legs.

Dean returned to the study and found Bobby hacking away at the keypad. The grizzly man glanced up and gulped his coffee. "Morning," Bobby muttered through his beard. "Up late?"

"Sam," Dean replied simply.

Bobby nodded. "Sleepwalking?" he frowned at Dean's mute nod. "Must've been a rough dream." He watched as his surrogate son heaved a heartfelt sigh and stared out the south side window. "Something crawlin' around in your head?"

"Mm," Dean grunted. "Just... just that Sam's a full-time job, you know?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know."

Dean did not need to shrug; Bobby recognized the internal struggle. He took another swig of coffee and swivelled the chair to face Dean more directly. "You did mention some time back that Sam said somethin' 'bout taking him back to Abby and Mike if he got to bein' too much for you. Or, maybe all you need is a break. Nothin' wrong with needing a little rest, Dean."

Dean shot his eyes to the sky, defiant of his own weariness. "No. I wanted my brother back. I got him back. I'm not going to let go of him. I'm just... just need a change of scenery, Bobby. Been looking for Alex Stepford for six months now without so much as a cow patty to lead me in the right direction." A chill shot up Dean's spine. "It's nothing to do with Sam, Bobby. Need to be on the road." He faced his mentor with a set expression. "I need to do something other than fix cars, hunt a local rumor and catch my brother when he sleep walks. I know Castiel's asked me to help him look for his Grace..." Dean winced. "But it's not..."

"It ain't like a good hunt," Bobby finished. Satisfaction touched the old man's smile when Dean nodded. "Well, I do have something. But I didn't know if you'd be interested. It's all the way in Montana."

A knock at the door caught their attention and Marco barked once from the stairway. Dean lurked at the study doorway as Bobby passed into the dark livingroom and answered the front door. He grimaced at Sheriff Jodi Mills.

"'morning, Singer. Been up long?"

"Little past dawn, Sheriff. What's up?"

She left his porch one moment and returned, tugging a trench coat-wearing angel with her. "He said he belongs to you but couldn't remember how to get here. Collecting strays again, Bobby?"

Dean popped around Bobby and gave his friend a single worried glance. "Cass?"

Bobby offered Jodi an apologetic smile. "He's only been here a time or two-"

"Well, apparently he's drunk, but I don't smell anything off him. Get him tagged or chipped, would you?" Mills gave Dean's shit-eating grin a nod of acknowledgment before retreating to her car.

Dean dragged Castiel into the small kitchen and set him at the table. He poured a cup of coffee for himself and his friend and sat across the silent figure. "Cass, got anything to say?" he waited about three seconds before knocking on the table. "Hello, Earth and Dean to Castiel, come in, please."

Castiel's brows wrinkled. His eyes blinked before he wrapped cold hands around the coffee cup. He gingerly sipped and set it down, equally as cautious. "I guess I've been gone for a while." Cass voiced his words quietly, more to himself than Dean and Bobby.

"'bout two weeks, Cass," Dean confirmed. "What happened? You look either shocky or drunk."

Silence hung between them like a tangible ghost. The angel had himself another sip of coffee. He closed his eyes momentarily then rested his blue orbs on Dean. "I just returned from the past and almost did not make it back. I had hoped the lead given me turned favorably. It did not. And I am no closer to finding other parts of my Grace than I was four months ago."

Dean shrugged. "How about the Yellow Pages, Cass? Doesn't Heaven have telephone books? Maybe someone who can help you out?"

"No, Dean. Heaven does not use contact directories or business pages." Castiel ignored Dean's embarrassed nod. The hunter knew full well that Castiel was no longer on talking terms with his angelic brothers and sisters since they considered him an outcast for siding with the Winchesters. In spite of what Castiel did to stop Abaddon, the angelic majority refused to acknowledge Cass as anything more than a low-level drone.

With his Grace splintered, Castiel did not have the power to return to Heaven without assistance. Although his angel friend did not speak of it, Dean knew Cass missed his home.

The main contact phone rang and broke the sad moment. Bobby reached from the sink and grabbed it at the second ring. "Singer Salvage." Pause. "Hey, Rufus. No. Just got up. Well what the hell do you _think_ I do all night?" Bobby's face scrunched with irritation. "Yeah, of course I got one. Hold on." He held the receiver to a shoulder and laid eyes on Dean. "TV. Now."

"_...where four children have mysteriously disappeared in as many days. While investigators have found open windows, no traces of DNA have been located. If you have any information leading to a suspect, please contact the FBI in your region. Liz Sarpens, CBS news. Darby, Montana." _

Dean shrugged. Why's that so strange? Maybe the kids heard the Pied Piper and took a walk."

Bobby eyed him with a sliver of annoyance. "'member that job I said 'bout Montana? Not more than a week ago a group of marines camped outside the town. They lost contact with the group. Went out, found all the adults dead. Three kids are still alive. But according to the grapevine, they ain't talkin. I didn't think much of it; serial killer or other. But I looked into it anyway."

Dean nodded. "Okay. So why are we interested in it?"

Bobby swept a book off the coffee table and opened a marked page. He laid it on the table for both Dean and Castiel to see. Pointing a calloused, stained finger at the image of a half-goat/half-human figure, he tapped the same finger on the staff held by the image. "Something exactly like that was found thrust into the ground nearby one of the cabins."

"A staff?" Dean lifted his eyes from the page to his friend.

Castiel answered for him: "No. Not exactly. It's a Thyrsos, a staff used by satyrs in celebrations. The rod itself is made from the stem of a giant Fennel. But that kind of plant is not found here in America. Usually the Fennel is wrapped in ivy leaves. Depends on the tribe, I suppose. Some Satyr tribes have been known to wrap the staff with intestines, mammal brains or tapeworms. But those are the more barbaric tribes."

Dean dipped his head slightly. "Okay. So this was found at the campground and you think maybe a satyr is responsible for the disappearances?"

Castiel pinned both men with his blue eyes. "It's not characteristic of satyrs to openly attack people. Usually they're what you call 'party animals'. They prefer to dance, drink and fornicate."

Dean knew he did not need to remind Castiel that many of the behaviors governing monsters and other creatures have changed post-apocalypse. "Well... I think I'll head out there, take an eyeball. Come back in a couple days. Been dying for a good drive, anyway."

"What about Sam?" Bobby immediately asked. He read uncertainty in Dean's subtle expression and slightly shook his head. "I got work that needs to be done, Dean-"

"I'll keep an eye on him," Cass offered. "I have no leads at this point. Ao Ji said he is still looking for missing pieces of my Grace. The only thing I can do is wait."

Dean nodded but made no eye contact. His idea of a road trip rarely excluded his brother. But Dean decided to caution on the side of error rather than risk exposing Sam to anything that over stressed his fragile sanity.

Sam emerged from sleep later that afternoon. He found his brother checking the Impala and packing her trunk for a few nights' stay. Roxi followed Sam to the side of the car. He greeted his brother with a neutral expression. "Bobby told on you."

"That so?" a twinkle lit Dean's eye.

Sam nodded. "You'll be gone more than a day or two, Dean."

Big brother paused as guilt burdened his face. "I'm sorry, Sam-"

"Don't be sorry," Sam intervened. "I get it. You don't do well in cages and frankly, I'm tired of looking at your ugly mug."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Sam furtively glanced at the front door then back to his brother. "I'd feel better, however, if you didn't go alone."

"It's a recon, Sammy. In. Snoop. Leave. Nothing more. I'll be back before your pumpkin carriage comes for you."

Sam squinted his eyes before skewing his brother with a bitch face. "I'm sorry, Dean, you still have my glass slippers-"

"Hey! Don't go there! I already told you they were too small for me."

"Take Castiel." Sam raced to say before Dean started on a tirade.

"I want Cass to stay here in case something happens."

Sam stared in disbelief. "I'm disabled, Dean, not helpless. Besides, I have Marco and Bobby. Camila's working on a case the next town over. I'll be fine. Go. But take Castiel."

Dean fixed his sweet green eyes on his brother. Sam's been back in his life for the better part of a year. But for Dean, it's been a lifetime since Sam dropped into the Cage. It's not often things go their way, that they actually get a lucky break and something goes right. But this, having Sammy back, was like having the entire universe handed to him on a silver platter. Dean thought he could lose his legs, arms and eyes and if he still had Sam, he had everything.

He nodded. "All right... bitch. But you'd better promise me you'll not forget to take your meds and make an appointment with that doctor, since the Imprixil's been giving you night-"

"_Dean!_" Sam tried to suppress his laughter. "I appreciate the mother hen complex. I really do. But if you don't get going, you'll end up laying eggs!" Dean opened his mouth, pointed a finger to say something. Sam grinned, "Cass!" He called and disappeared into Bobby's house.

Dean dropped the tough-guy routine long enough to hug Sam good-bye. With Cass riding shotgun and Black Sabbath blasting out the speakers, Dean escaped South Dakota for the first time in several months.

Accordingly, the drive from Sioux Falls to Darby is a long seventeen hours; Dean made it in twelve.

"Population 921," Dean said smoothly. He maneuvered the Impala into a small mom-and-pop motel and scouted the area for surveillance, tell-tale signs of drug use and general disrepair. To his delight, the motel was well-kept. Outdoor pool, Internet access and satellite TV offered a better than usual stay. Leaving Castiel, Dean exited the car and spotted two fast food restaurants and a hole-in-the-wall Chinese nearby.

An elderly man greeted Dean at the check-in counter. "Need a little coffee there, young fella?" he offered.

"No, thanks. Uh, one room, two beds, non-smoking please." While he waited for the gentleman to check him in, Dean scanned the office and found nothing spectacular or out of the norm. He signed the form and silently thanked the guy for his change.

"Hey," the old man said before Dean turned away. "You with them investigator folks?"

"Investigators?"

"Yeah, them NCIS folks? Pulled in here late last night. Said they're expecting someone else t' come along."

Dean mutely nodded, not so much to say he was part of their team, but that he recalled from his dad who and what NCIS was.

The old man pointed out the large lobby window. "They said something about breakfast at Denny's then to meet them at this address." He produced a piece of scrap paper and gazed at Dean hopefully.

Dean gave him a respectful smile. "Thanks! Oh, uh, there might be someone else to come along, too." He memorized the address then handed the paper back. "Might want to give this to them."

The old man reflected Dean's expression. "I'll do just that."

Dean and Castiel labored for two hours setting 'shop' in their room. The town map stretched along one wall; names, dates and incidents poked holes around it. As soon as they secured all the weapons and tucked reference books under the beds, Dean phoned Sam.

No answer.

Dean phoned Bobby.

Bobby's voice grunted over the line. "_Yeah_?"

Dean tempered his voice, "How's Sammy? He didn't answer his phone. Was he in the shower?"

"_No. Otherwise, it'd make more sense than what he's doing right now_."

"Oh, God," Dean softly swore. "What's going on? Do you need me to come back?"

Bobby picked up his coffee and reentered his cluttered office, phone connected to his ear. He peered round and under his old wooden desk where Sam slept in a tight fetal position. "_No_," he kept his voice soft. "_We're okay. But I gotta say that new stuff you have him on doesn't seem t' hold too good_."

Dean half-laughed. He considered Sammy's occasional quirks a never ending source of amusement. "Lemme talk to him, Bobby." Dean tossed Castiel a confident smile. "Heya, Sammy," he greeted his drowsy brother. "How you doin?" Dean peeked out a curtain, taking visual account of the traffic and their general surroundings while Sam talked about a customer. As far as Dean was concerned, Darby, Montana could not be a quieter town.

"We're good, Sam." he answered confidently. "Me and Cass just pulled in 'bout an hour ago. I'm starved. You'd like it here, Sammy," Dean reported, "It's a one-horse town, complete with a bitty library, a post office and a park. I'm guessing the residents live in Hobbit holes around here." Dean grinned when Sam laughed. "Say, look. I'm gonna catch a short nap before snooping around. The computer's up and running. You can toss me stuff as you find it... you know... directions, porn, that sort of thing. Okay? Eat something, Sammy. I'll catch you later." he snapped the cell off and let out a deep breath, relieved. His head knew his little brother was in good hands. And he knew this trip was a good thing. Still, Sam's vulnerability left Dean uneasy.

"Hey," he said to Cass. "How about you take a walk while I crash for a while?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Castiel asked innocently.

"Cuz I don't want you to sit here and watch me sleep. Creeps me out. Just... just go take a look around for a couple of hours, see what you can find or listen to."

Castiel nodded in concession and departed. Dean turned the TV on, the shades down and flopped on the bed.

Dean woke late afternoon. He stretched worn muscles and decided a hot shower was next in the order of things. He stood, stretched again then hit the floor for thirty push-ups. He and Sam now took time to retrain their bodies and sharpen skills Dean lost during his time in domestic life. He missed the military discipline required for hunting. And while they did not hunt, per se, he and Sam still stayed in the mainstream, looking up cases and appointed them to hunters on Bobby's list of contacts. Dean had taken a few hunts on his own; simple, one-man jobs. But he never strayed far from home.

The shower reinvigorated him and prepared Dean for a night of I-Spy. He gathered as little gear as he dared and left in search of his angelic friend.

Just like most other American small towns, Dean's eye caught sight of more antique stores than restaurants. A clear sky greeted him as he ventured down the walkway. _The Golden Waffle_ promised exactly what his stomach needed. He found Castiel casually strolling toward him from the other side of the street. Dean nodded his head at the restaurant but did not wait for Cass to catch up.

The waitress gave him a table for two and set two cups of coffee just as Castiel entered. Dean did not even take notice of his waitress' flirtatious eyes and sipped the coffee. "Hey," he greeted his angelic friend as she moved along.

"Sam was wise to ask me to accompany you, Dean."

Dean fingered his cup, now sitting half full. "Why's that?"

Castiel produced a sheet of paper from his pocket and wordlessly handed it to Dean. He waited until his friend had time to look it over. "Those are the homes where the children disappeared. Currently they have two K-9 units searching the woods."

Dean leaned back as the waitress brought his breakfast with an extra plate of pancakes. He shot her a quick grin then returned his eyes to the paper. "What's with the map here, Cass?"

"The campground. Currently investigators have it taped off."

Dean nodded. "So, all we need are a few names. But first, I need my Wheaties. And that plate is yours."

The angel's expression did not change. "I have no need of food, Dean-"

"Appearances, Castiel," he almost sang. "Blending in, remember?"

Dean tipped the waitress well in case he needed information from her later. He and Cass returned to the quiet motel for the Impala and toured the small town before heading toward the campground.

Seventeen miles into the national forest, Dean wondered how he and Castiel were going to find the children and interrogate them. With all suites and Government letters walking around, staying low gave them few options. Dean reminded himself they were here only to look around.

Yeah. Right.

He carefully tucked his baby into an off-the-road clearing and picked out Sam's digital camera from the trunk. "Cass," he called softly, "you didn't see any investigators on the grounds out here, did you?"

"No. It does not mean there's no one here, now."

"Well, they have other details in town. We'll try to make this quick." Dean and Cass hiked the last hundred feet into the campground.

Police tape flapped in the north wind as though human policies tried to hold back a tide of impending danger. Dean ducked under, paused and scanned. The area hung dead with such quiet it made him extra wary. Not so much as a bird or a breeze affected the crime scene. A forensic examiner's vehicle stood without a driver or other occupants. Peeking into shotgun side, Dean found the entire dashboard suffered damage as though someone took a sledgehammer to it.

Prints from heavy boots scuffed the dirt road. To Dean's trained eye, that was standard issue for investigators. Just for giggles, he tried his cell phone. Static with a twinge of strange noises. He changed channels; same thing. What a surprise.

Dean clicked his phone shut and scanned the tree line. "You sense anything, Cass?"

"Death." the angel reported. "But not strictly human."

"Yeah." Dean traced the road through the camera's eye and still found nothing. "Okay. I guess the next sign post will give us what we're after."

Forty-eight feet further gave Dean what he was after. The three cabins they encountered leaned one way or another. In spite of their modern touches, the cabins appeared old. Their walls buckled inward. Refuse littered the ground, and blood stained the front porch. Investigators tagged images and debris for evidence. Dean turned to Castiel. "This isn't right," He took three shots. "The cops should have photographed everything and taken it home."

"What do you mean?"

"Cops usually pick up the keepsakes for their geek squad to examine so they can figure out what happened. But all the stuff... those tags with numbers on them... they shouldn't be here-what's that?"

Cass followed Dean who beelined for a professional camera. Before touching it, Dean flashed a photo. He crouched for a better view. "Cass... see if you can find anything else like this. Look for plastic gloves, name tags, stuff like that."

As Cass rounded the immediate area, Dean approached the ground's central fire pit. He took a few other photos before realizing the Thyrsos, the satyr's staff, was missing. Dean slowly rounded the fire pit, searching for pieces of the staff or clues to its whereabouts. He found footprints and then a small hole in the ground filled with blood.

Castiel caught up with him and crouched beside his friend. "I found three name tags, a pair of shoes and someone's left hand with a wedding ring intact."

"Someone's left hand?" Dean repeated. "Just the hand?"

"No. The wrist also had a watch on it. It must have stopped working at the person's time of death. This happened just a few hours ago. I also detect something watching us from a distance." the angel watched Dean's eyes brighten with heightened awareness.

Dean pointed to the bloodied hole. "I'm pretty sure this was where the staff was."

Cass nodded. "Satyrs are half-sapient, if that can be applied. They are as much creatures of nature as they are humanoid. Most likely the Thyrsos was ripped from its place like a tree from the ground."

"Well, that explains why everything's so quiet here," Dean deduced. Whatever attacked this place intended to stake it as personal territory. The cops were killed because they trespassed."

"The investigators were gathering evidence when the satyr or something similar attacked them." Castiel, ever so calm, followed Dean as he traced the footprints. They found pieces of skin and bone. One man lay face-down, his back devoid of his spine. Another guy lay face-up, completely disemboweled. Having seen enough gruesome, Dean traveled to the next-nearest cabin: Number Three. Its broken wooden steps displayed signs of a fight. The fragmented door lay inside. The walls yawned with large holes. "Dean," the angel peered into the indoor darkness. "I don't see how could one entity do all this damage. It's as if..."

"Maybe it was more than one," Dean replied. "Sammy's going to go ballistic over this. I don't know if I should show him these photos-"

"He will be fine, Dean," Cass assured him.

They examined cabin Number Four then Number Five where Castiel found the tail of a small animal.

"Okay," Dean stared at it, uncertain. "That's a weird keepsake."

"Cat," Cass confirmed.

"Kitten," Dean corrected. "You don't think someone was sacrificing animals and woke something they shoulda left alone, do you?"

"Difficult to say."

"Yeah. Let's look over the other cabins."

They found cabin Number Six in the same state of disrepair. One exception for cabin Number Six, however: a glowing blue tint affected the windows. Dean held the camera to the strange phenomena and winced at the bright light displayed through the camera's lens. He said nothing and took three more photos before tracking the angel downhill to cabin Number Nine.

Dean counted three bottles of whiskey, two wine coolers and a shattered Crown Royal scattered across the cabin's front porch. Blood marred the doorposts. The name "Minerva" scrawled across the damaged door in blood. Dean toed the door open and peered into the dark. He fished for his maglight and with a glance at Cass, entered the place of desecration.

The stench of old blood and spoilt food left hints of former occupants. Dean didn't think the investigators reached this far before they met their end. The floor creaked with age and damage. Great gashes in the walls left indications of non-human invasion. The mini kitchen laid wasted. A butcher knife on a small table pointed toward the sink with a blood encrusted blade. A kitten's head sat immersed in a glass of booze.

"God, I don't get people," Dean muttered. He pressed forward and up the stairs leading to the bedrooms.

The first bedroom waited patiently for an occupant. The bed sat unmarked, unused. A suitcase lay open on the nearby table displaying women's clothing. A grocery bag slumped on the floor nearby. A bottle of vodka, another of red wine and two cans of Sink the Bismark, a high-alcohol beer, snuggled in the bag's creases.

Dean traded the clean room for the next one over and found it trashed. The tattered bedding littered the room. High-velocity blood splatter colored the walls. The table lay in three pieces. Little girl's clothing covered the floor in several piles.

Dean winced when he spotted a pile of feces on a pair of jeans. "What the hell?" Not far from the jeans lay three dolls; one with a missing head and split stomach. Another doll lay face down, a knife protruding from its back. The third doll lay in scattered nuggets. All the dolls lacked clothing. Swallowing his reaction, Dean clicked more photos before he found the head of another kitten. He squatted in front of it and wracked his brain for theories. But the only equation that explained the senseless killing of a harmless creature was human behavior.

He scanned the room one more time. "Kitty," he said to it, "where's the rest of you? Did the big bad bag lady decide to share your DNA with everyone else? Mean old bitch."

"Dean!" Castiel's voice indicated something was wrong. Dean rushed down the stairs and outside as two NCIS agents approached them, weapons drawn, faces bordered on anger. Dean swiftly hid the camera in a pocket inside his jacket sleeve before joining Castiel. He tugged on a game face and kept his hands up.

"Heya!" he greeted.

"Are you blind or stupid?" Came a reply from the lady agent on the left.

"Uhh... well, my brother usually-"

"Shut up!" the man with her answered. "Hands on your head." he cuffed Castiel first then Dean. "Come here for a good photo shoot, huh? Did you enjoy all the blood and gore? Tell me, Alex Tarney, did you find anything in the nude?"

Dean stifled a wince when the officer clamped the handcuffs a little too tightly. "If I did, would you buy it from me?"

"Shut up!" He nodded toward his lady partner. "I'll go ahead and run Dick Tracy and Junior back to the car, Ziva. Don't stay out too late."

"Or at all," Dean advised. "There's a cat killer on the loose here." Dean kept his footing as the cop shoved him forward. They retraced their steps up the hill but rather than return to the path leading to cabin Number Five, they approached cabin Number Six. Dean spotted blood trailing down the cabin's front windows. An investigator's partial remains lay in pieces at the cabin's front porch and again Minerva's name, written in blood, dripped down the front door.

They passed the fire pit on the way to the car. "You know," he said to the cop, "you might consider putting the staff back where you found it. It's not a good idea to take something that doesn't belong to you."

The cop stood nose to nose with Dean. "You're a real wiseass, you know that? You think you're the first wiseass I've dealt with? Huh? Listen here, Case Morgan, you don't wanna mess with me. I know how to give you wedgies you've not even experienced in your nightmares. Now get in the car!"

Castiel calmly joined Dean in the backseat. They watched as 'Ziva' returned and pointed to cabin Number One. Castiel did not look at Dean when he spoke: "I believe Sam was right by insisting I join you on this investigation, Dean. I hope they'll still let you make the one phone call."

"They'll want to interrogate us first, Cass. Just don't mention the camera, okay?" Dean wondered why the agents did not frisk them for weapons. Not that he had anything more than his silver knife with him, but according to procedure, they should have searched for weapons.

Dean covertly looked for the Impala as they passed her hiding place. Still tucked away, undisturbed, she waited for his return. Dean released a quiet sigh of relief. Sam was going to kill him.

18


	2. From Washington

Chain Reaction ch 2

From Washington

The chilling 911 call played a second time in the office:

"_Nine-one-one. What's your emergency?"_

The lady sobbed and choked on her tears. _"I saw it! I saw it! Oh, gawd! it's dragging her around by a hook in her mouth!"_

"_Ma'am, you need to calm down. I need to know where you are."_

"_It left some sort of pole by the fire pit and it keeps saying her name."_

"_You __**must**__ tell me where you are so I can send help."_

The caller swallowed convulsively. _It's Lorena's fault. I'm sure of it. She's the one who went to everyone's cabin and smeared blood on the posts. Crazy bitch-"_

panicked, high-pitch screams followed the voice. Dead silence lagged afterward.

"_Hello? Hello?"_

NCIS Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Gibbs killed the playback while his people sat in stunned silence.

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo worked his jaw and bounced an ink pen between his fingers. "That's chilling. Makes for a great horror movie." he clammed up when Gibbs shot him a warning look.

"Got a call from Sec Nav this morning asking us to look into it," Gibbs introduced. "A small group of marines went camping outside of Darby, Montana; marines and their families. All of them are inexplicably dead. They're shipping remains back here for Ducky. Meanwhile, we're going to Montana."

Special Agent Ziva David pointed to the main screen. "Sounded like the caller saw a monster."

Gibbs dragged a backpack over a shoulder. "No such thing, Ziva."

She shrugged. "I suppose you think the lady was screaming about Jasper the Happy Ghost."

DiNozzo popped on his uniform hat and backpack. He smoothly rounded the desk and passed her. "_Casper_ is supposed to be _friendly_. But if you ask me, he had ulterior motives. Come along, McGeek. Lots to do!"

Special Agent Timothy McGee frowned as he swiftly packed his laptop, extra pens, a fresh notebook and swept up his jacket. "Why do the weird stuff always take place in small towns?"

The team landed at the Great Falls International Airport by eight A.M. Gibbs all but jumped off the plane. Ziva held her NCIS cap when the cold Montana air caught her by surprise. She paused at the small plane exit and gazed across a clean blue sky accompanied by distant blue, sawtooth mountains. Tony gently nudged her from behind and she descended, graceful and wary.

McGee tagged last. His eyes measured each step until he touched ground. He squinted against the wind and sun and watched as his boss approached a 'uniform' and shook hands with a marine captain.

Tony tapped the blacktop lightly as he rushed to catch up with his boss. Gibbs' expectations ran high and Tony and his coworkers did their best to meet or exceed their supervisor's high standards. That meant eavesdropping and thinking fast on the feet. Tony, always up to the challenge, picked up the captain's conversation mid-sentence.

"...sheriff's pretty rattled over it. No indication of gang activity, drugs or terrorism. Might be a serial killer on PCP. We decided to wait until you and your people arrived before processing the scene."

The captain and Gibbs entered a hanger and paused. DiNozzo watched his boss measure the captain's body language against his words. Sure enough, Gibbs knew what to ask:

"What else did you find?"

"Little girl's name smeared in blood over the doors of a couple of cabins. Some kind of staff planted in the ground next to the camp's fire pit. But wanna hear what's the craziest part?"

"Yeah," Gibbs replied monotone.

"Hoof marks," the captain said with a measure of doubt. "I don't mean horse tracks and they're too big for goats."

"Deer?"

"No way. They're huge, cloven like a goat but track like a biped." the marine captain did not shift his expression even when Gibbs smiled, expressing his disbelief with internal laughter.

"Well, I'm sure it's not the first time anyone has encountered a costumed serial killer, Captain."

The team checked out two sedan rental cars and arrived in Darby by ten A.M. Gibbs sent Tony to get them a couple of motel rooms while he, Ziva and McGee visited the sheriff's office.

The receptionist made them wait while she finished typing a letter. She raised bored eyes and peered at Gibbs through a pair of reading glasses. "Can I help you?" she forced a smile as if her face might crack to do so.

Gibbs, David and McGee flashed their ID's but Gibbs spoke for his group. "NCIS? Here to speak with Sheriff Lightwater, please."

"He just stepped out. Would you like to leave a message and have him call you?"

Gibbs examined the room divided into eight cubicles and a corner office framed with windows. An over-watered dragon tree sat wearily beside the receptionist's desk. The place smelled of fresh ink, old paper, coffee and window cleaner. "How about we just wait for his return?"

She shrugged. "He's gone on call. Might be a couple-" The office door opened and the mid-life woman peered round McGee.

Following her visual direction, Gibbs turned as a fellow in his late forties stepped through the door and removed an old brown cowboy hat. "Maggie, got problems using the phone?"

The receptionist almost rolled her eyes. "James, these people just walked in looking for you." she turned away, her job done for the moment.

The sheriff shook Gibbs' hand. "James Lightwater." he said.

"Special Agent Leroy Gibbs. This is Special Agents Ziva David, Timothy McGee. Our other party member, Tony DiNozzo is currently handling logistics." Gibbs waited for the sheriff to greet the other two agents. "We're here to look into the... killings-"

"You mean the Bitter Creek Massacre?" Lightwater instantly rattled off. "Didn't know for sure if they were FBI territory or not."

Ziva peeped up: "We're not FBI," she said.

"We're NCIS," McGee added. "We deal with incidents involving marines."

Gibbs' face remained stoic. "The campers here were marines and their families. If you don't mind, we'd like to take a look around."

Lightwater glanced out the office windows. "Well, I hope you brought your own forensics, too, Agent Gibbs. We're a small town all the forensic stuff has to be brought in from Great Falls. I'll drive you out there for good look. But I hope you're not squeamish. It's not a pretty sight."

McGee lifted a finger to indicate a comment, "I understand there were actually survivors?"

Lightwater's lips tightened and he rotated his hat between his hands. "Yup. Three kids. A boy and two girls. Can't get them to talk, however. The littlest one, five years, hasn't slept since the massacre. They're under temporary CPS care at the moment."

The sheriff drove Gibbs and his team (minus DiNozzo) seventeen miles outside of town. They took a right-hand turn off the highway and five hundred yards into a campground clearing. Several cabins dotted the landscape, shaded by hovering trees and connected by well-worn trails. In the middle sat an empty fire pit with a number of chairs standing or lying around it. Two shredded chairs littered the ground in shards of white plastic. Gibbs followed McGee and Ziva as he tried to call DiNozzo and inform him of their whereabouts.

"Won't work here," Lightwater warned without looking. "Tried that all over here. You'll have to leave the campground t' get access. Don't know why."

Gibbs snapped the phone closed as they approached their first body. Ziva produced a pair of examiner's gloves and touched the victim's shoulder.

She winced at the sight of his face. "It looks like an animal attacked him."

"They all do," Lightwater said. "You should see what the cabins look like inside."

"Have you touched anything?" Gibbs asked.

"Nope. Not touching a single thing. I'll tell you, though... see that rod or staff by the pit? Never seen anything like it before. Come take a look at it." He led Agent Gibbs to the pit while McGee took a number of initial photographs.

Gibbs crouched beside the staff and examined it from ground to tip. A pinecone capped the pole's topside and ivy wound around it, although it did not look like the ivy touched it at all. A silky red ribbon knotted the pole just under the pinecone. "What the hell is this, a caducous?"

"You got me," Lightwater adjusted his hat. "That's not all. Come this way."

Gibbs followed the sheriff some yards east of the fire pit to cabin Number Nine. The NCIS agents did not need to see inside. Gibbs simply glanced at the battered and bloodied cabin before leaving the campground to call DiNozzo.

Tony crammed three forensic specialists and their equipment into the rental and caught up with his team fifteen minutes later. The investigators stared at the carnage spread before them like the debris field after a hellish battle. The youngest specialist among them, Severson, took to the first body Ziva looked at. His coworkers shadowed him. They photographed, bagged, tagged and noted every square inch. McGee and Ziva worked with them, tackling the tedious process at a snail's pace.

DiNozzo taped off the campground entrance. He knotted the yellow ribbon from one tree to another until the breeze tickled his ears with an unusual sound. He glanced up. Was that his boss? No, Gibbs chattered with the sheriff as they traveled from one cabin to another.

McGee? Nope. McGee took photos and logged them on an ipad. Chalking it to his imagination, DiNozzo resumed his parameter border until he heard the sound more clearly; laughter. It wasn't loud and it did not appear to originate from a single source. Tony held still, waiting.

There! A multitude of voices tumbled over one another; some in whispers, others in distant screams. Eerie laughter followed. Tony zipped around until his eyes spotted the Thrysos. He unsnapped the lock on his gun holster and approached the foreign object with the caution of a cat. DiNozzo scanned the grounds to see if anyone else heard something. But all his companions busied themselves with the investigation. DiNozzo crouched for a closer look. The ivy fluttered in the wind. The leaves glistened with life, though they couldn't be...unless freshly picked. The red ribbon danced lazily. The slash pinecone crowned the top of the staff and released a sweet pine-vanilla scent. The oddity came from the center of the pinecone: a tiny but intensely bright light.

"What are you doing, DiNozzo?"

Tony snapped straight up, spotted Gibbs and Lightwater from cabin Number Three and pointed to the staff. "I'm taking this back to the office, Boss," he declared. "I'm thinking it needs a bigger eyeball." Gibbs nodded his approval and permission and DiNozzo's hands wiggled into a set of gloves and he carefully extracted the staff.

He did not see blood seep from the hole in which the staff stood.

Gibbs took liberty to check on his agents. Ziva recorded all tags and bags while McGee photographed the first cabin inside-out. Two forensics prepared to hoist the second body into the ambulance while young Severson meticulously dusted off several ceramic fragments. Gibbs knelt one knee beside him and peered at the pieces.

"What you got there?"

"Dunno, sir. Pieces of a ceramic cup or something. I didn't think much of it until I realized how old they looked. My sister studies Grecian artefacts and if I'm not mistaken, this looks pretty original."

Gibbs gave the young man a skeptical glance but fingered a piece with care. He knew ceramics and this was certainly out of place. "Keep me informed," he requested.

They spent the better part of the day combing through the scene. No evidence of the perpetrator, however; not so much as a weapon. Although, from the photos sent to Ducky, the doctor ascertained one victim was slashed with a knife, but he could not be certain.

Sheriff Lightwater raced past Gibbs to his vehicle outside the campground and answered a call over the radio. The call ended and Lightwater looked exasperated.

Gibbs joined the sheriff though he kept one eye on his people. "Something wrong, Sheriff?" he asked politely.

"Break-in on Southwic Avenue. Couple guys in fatigues, shotguns and knives roughed up Annie West and her six year old daughter. She said the same guys just broke into the neighbor's house."

"Can we help?" Gibbs immediately asked.

"You got the man power?"

Gibbs watched as the first two forensic specialists returned to the scene for another body. "You bet," he said. "Just give me a moment, here."

Gibbs phoned in a request for one more specialist to aid in the overwhelming job from Great Falls before collecting his team. They met Lightwater at the residence on Southwic. Ziva and McGee stepped in with two officers while Gibbs and the sheriff examined the point of entry.

Gibbs squatted before the broken window. "This looks intentional." he said, "what room is this?"

"The daughter's."

Gibbs examined the cut glass, the tool marks and a line of dark dust along the windowsill. "What the heck is this supposed to be?" he looked to the sheriff who merely shook his head.

DiNozzo gave McGee free reign when it came to interviewing Annie West and her little girl. He half listened as he examined the small home.

"What did the man look like?" McGee asked first.

Mother and daughter gave a general description of two men, one slightly mousier than the other. One meaner, direct and demanding. Ziva tagged along and took photos of the window and nodded when Gibbs indicated he wanted a sample of the black dust line.

"Know what I think?" Tony piped.

"That you should be on a beach somewhere watching bikinis and drinking marguerites?" Ziva did not return his grin.

"Well, that too," Tony teased. "But seriously. This wasn't about a break-grab-and-go."

Gibbs appeared in the doorway. "Whatchya got?"

Tony turned to his boss. "Professional. Intentional. Well-planned. Nothing that screams 'abduction', Boss. Weird."

Ziva clicked several photos in and in front of the closet. "There's more of that black dust here..." she lifted her eyes and her face squinched in puzzlement. "What is that?"

Gibbs and Tony joined her at the closet doorway and peered at the ceiling where two holes of exact size and depth gaped about four feet apart. Gibbs fingered one hole, gauging the texture. "Doesn't look drilled. It's smooth, as though cut by a blade."

Tony stepped aside for Ziva's camera. "What tool does that, Boss?"

"No idea." Agent Gibbs also stepped aside to make room for Ziva. He dusted his hands and did not need to see to know Tim arrived at the bedroom doorway. "Whatchya got for me, McGee?"

McGee heaved a sigh. "Well, they're both rattled, but unharmed. The perp in question demanded to know if anything broke into their house recently or if either of them have heard noises, seen things disturbed or had odd or creepy dreams."

"Did they get a _name_, McGee?" Gibbs eyed him with expectations.

"She said she overheard the taller man call the other one 'Paisley'. That's all she knows." Leroy Gibbs stared until McGee turned nervous. His boss wanted more information. "Aaaand I ran the name and there's no one by that name anywhere in the state. I ran it through a couple of databases and I'm still waiting for results. So... he's not local."

Gibbs turned cross. "Obviously he's not local, McGee. We're in a town where everyone knows each other's bathroom habits." Gibbs stomped down the hall, barking orders all the way down: "DiNozzo, I want that stuff analyzed ASAP. Ziva, head back to Bitter Creek. McGee, photo analysis. Now."

"Agent Gibbs?" Lightwater's voice, gruff and demanding, trailed from the hallway.

"Yeah," Gibbs tossed back.

"Trouble at the campground. Maggie said someone tried to call nine-one-one but something cut the communication."

They couldn't have left faster. They returned to the campground in seven minutes and exited the cars with guns at the ready. DiNozzo called the names of each forensic specialist until Gibbs laid a hand on Tony's shoulder and pointed in a two-thirty position. One specialist lay with arms spread out, head held back in a frozen scream. His mid section lay open and vacant of all his organs. Large hoof prints marked the ground all around him.

"Boss?" McGee called at their four o'clock. Ziva, who'd seen plenty of horror in her time, covered her mouth at the sight. The second forensic lay face down, his spinal cord ripped out his back. And from there, all their eyes, including the sheriff's, followed a trail of body parts leading from Body Number Two into the forest; the third forensic littered the campground in bite-sized chunks.

That was when Tony spotted fresh human boot marks.


	3. Nightshift

Chain Reaction: ch 3

Nightshift

Three hours after Tony and Ziva caught 'Glen Hughes' and his trench-coat-wacko partner, Gibbs sent Abby and Ducky all the ugly evidence he could cram into a single over-night shipment. Darby paramedics rushed the rest of the bodies to Billings for storage while the M.E. there examined them one at a time.

The crime scene carnage and the two-fisted situation gave Gibbs an ulcer. That was bad enough. Now he faced two jokers who potentially compromised the evidence.

Leaving the 'trench coat' in another room with the sheriff, Gibbs tackled the mouthier of the two. "What's your real name?" With a deep frown, Special Agent Gibbs sat across the table.

Dean kept his cocky expression in place. "Well, see, I can't be sure. The cop that arrested me gave me all kinds of names-"

Gibbs' solid blue eyes drilled Dean with well practiced stoicism. "Must be nice to think you can sit here all day and crack jokes." he stood and leaned toward Dean. "People are dead and you may have compromised a crime scene! NOW WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING THERE?!"

Dean kept cool. "We didn't touch anything, even the toilet handles, if that's what you're worried about-"

"I'm going to charge you for withholding evidence and tampering with a crime scene, _Mister_. You can sit here and think about it for a while!"

Dean watched the older man thunder out the office. They did not offer him the one phone call. They confiscated his cell phone, his knives, wallet and flashlight. At least they did not find the camera. He held his breath as the officer spoke to the arresting cop outside the door.

"Whaddya got, DiNozzo?"

"Boss, neither of these guys fit our data bases. I don't even think your guy is on any of our lists. But Abby's still sifting."

"What about the other one?"

"Says his name's Castiel. No last name."

"GET his last name, DiNozzo."

"Working on it."

They made Dean wait two hours in the sterile interrogation room, cuffed at the desk. He stayed patient, stared at the one-way mirror and contemplated the evidence found at Bitter Root.

Someone finally entered the room: the arresting wiseass. Dean greeted him with tired eyes. The cop set a cup of steaming coffee in front of Dean and took a chair on the other side.

Dean fingered the coffee. "So, now you're going to play 'good cop'?"

"Was never my forte," the NCIS agent replied smoothly. "I'd rather ram that chair up your ass and make you walk thirty miles than to play nice."

Dean used a facial shrug and sipped the coffee gratefully. "Fair 'nuff."

"Good. You're a smart boy, aren't you..." the cop glanced at Dean's fake I.D. "Glenn Hughes? Now come on. Everybody knows he's all Black Sabbath. It's too obvious you're not. Got a little Soul Mover on you?"

"Pfffft!" Dean scoffed. "The only song that made that album bearable was-"

"-High Road," they echoed.

Dean blinked, impressed.

The agent shrugged. "Yeah, okay. There's a level between us: Jack Lemmon, Walter Matthau."

Dean pointed at him, catching the movie reference. "Jack Klugman. Forever."

"Odd Couple!" 'NCIS' brightened. "Movies or TV series?"

"TV series. Original movie."

"Good man!" the officer settled more comfortably in his chair. "Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. DiNozzo, Tony. NCIS."

Dean silently laughed. "Yeah, I didn't think you guys were run-of-the-mill puppies."

"So, hey, come on. What's with the field trip?"

Dean leaned forward, hands in front of him. "I wish I had a dollar for every time I've had to say this: you'd not believe me if I told you."

Tony nodded. "Cliche. Tit-for-tat. Try me."

Dean leaned in. His eyes shined. "I am a secret paranormal investigator, working for the world government."

Tony's face lit up with an incredulous smile. "Paranormal investigator. That's a new one for me. So tell me, Dr. Venkman, whose ghost did you find?"

Dean settled back. This was going to turn ugly. "Wasn't a ghost, as far as we can tell. The staff that you guys removed... my colleagues tell me it's usually associated with a satyr."

"Excuse me, a what?"

"A little goat-man who drinks and parties."

Tony's face froze until his eyes blinked and he remembered to breathe. "Okay... a plate of Mother Goose with a side dish of wacko. I can take that."

Dean nodded again. "Doesn't explain the cats, however."

"What about the cats?"

"Someone decided to make chilly-con-kitty and shared it with everyone in the camp starting from cabin Number Nine."

Tony sat back and chewed the end of his pen. "Why's that significant?"

It pleased Dean that the NCIS agent was open minded enough to ask a question. He lapped his arms on the table and gazed earnestly into DiNozzo's eyes. "It depends. Sometimes violence can trigger a reaction to anything that considers life sacred. If there is something, say, sleeping there at the campground, the deaths of the cats might have enraged it."

Again Agent DiNozzo blinked. "Okay, let's say I go with the flow. What's next?"

"I don't know," Dean answered plainly. "I'm not finished with my investigation."

Before he could say anything more, the door opened a crack and DiNozzo's boss peeked through. "D'Nozzo," he called. Tony grinned and left the room.

Dean stretched while he waited. Sitting in a dead silent room was never good for him. Yet another reason he could not sit still in school. He wanted to look at the photos taken at the campground, but didn't dare do or say anything more until either they released him or they let him call Sam.

Dean ran a hand through his hair and hoped they weren't going to hold him on bail. Sam was going to kill him.

The agent-in-charge returned. His stoic face failed to hide the frustrated and impatient anger smoldering in his stormy blue eyes. He plopped the file in front of Dean and sat hard in the chair. "Let's start over, shall we?"

"Okay."

"You wanna tell me what the hell you were doing in my crime scene... _Dean Winchester_? And how is it that a marine's son fell off the grid and managed to stay invisible for almost ten years? Where's your brother Sam? And what are you doing with a crackpot like Jimmy Novak who claims he's 'an Angel of the Lord?"

"How much time do you have?" The agent nailed Dean with a glare as he folded he arms and settled into his stiff chair. Dean pointed to the folder. "May I?" the agent said nothing and Dean helped himself. He kept the first printouts in order and found photos similar to the few he took earlier. Dean recognized the cabins and the surrounding area.

Gibbs leaned forward and stared as if mentally dissecting Dean's head. "I have three agents and sixteen marines plus their families all dead, _sir_. I'd appreciate it if you can tell me what exactly happened."

Dean glanced up. He remembered the three bodies. "Yeah, that's a bad sign" he grimaced. "Did your agents take anything from the site? Say, something like jewelry with odd markings or anything odd period?"

"What's that got to do with it?"

"They did, didn't they? What about the Thyrsos? The staff?"

"What about it?"

"You have that too, don't you?" Dean expected an answer but the agent found the door more interesting. With a sigh of frustration himself, Dean twirled a photo of Minerva's name painted in blood on a cabin door. "Look, I want to help. But you gotta help me before I can help you-"

"I don't _believe_ in the supernatural, Mister Winchester. I don't believe in ghosts, ghouls, UFO's, fate, coincidence, monsters, invisibility spray or flying pigs."

"Well, I agree with three of those on your list, Lieutenant."

"Gibbs," the agent corrected. "Special Agent Gibbs."

"Okay," Dean nodded. He tapped the picture under his finger. "This here? Something was after this person." intrigued, the agent turned receptive. Dean kept his eyes steady. "Is she still alive?"

"Maybe."

"Do you have her statement?"

"I'm not at liberty to say and no, you may not talk to her."

"Okay. Good. Someone's alive." Dean did not react as Gibbs sat frigid and hostile. "Can I call my brother?"

No matter how loudly Abby cranked her obnoxious music, the empty office loomed around her and sucked the life out of the entire NCIS administration building. Of course she had things to do. Abby was almost never bored. But with her team in the field a million states away, they might as well have fallen off the planet. Ducky graciously consoled her with a dinner for two. The old M.E. was the whole universe for a few hours. But the reprieve ended and Abby dragged her mind, heart and fears back to the office's vacant seats, blank computer monitors and voiceless atmosphere.

Then the phone rang and Abby's brain about exploded with relief and anxiety: "GIBBS, GIBBS, GIBBS! OHMIGOD, I'M SO GLAD TO HEAR FROM YOU! ARE YOU OKAY? IS EVERYONE OKAY? WAS THE FLIGHT OKAY? WHAT'S GOING ON? OHMIGOD-okay, I'm calm..." she strained to draw a deep breath.

"_Abby, it's only been two days."_

"Yeah, I know," Abby tried to keep the whine out of her voice. "It's just that... it's so lonely here. You know? You guys are gone and I'm here with Ducky and empty desks."

"_Well, we're okay,"_ Gibbs assured her calmly. _"Listen, Abbs, we need you to run a few names and prints for us_."

Gibbs uploaded twenty-five megabytes of photos and prints. He rattled off a short list of names-"Wait a minute," Abby called her time-out. "Glenn Hughes? Seriously? Who's using that one?"

A single sigh from her boss warned Abby. She set off straight to work with a promise for answers in fifteen minutes.

Rushing at the speed of her thought, Abby called Gibbs back in seven and a half minutes. "You'll freak over this," she said without a formal greeting. "His name is Dean Winchester, first born of Winchester, John, Eric. Serial number 306-00-3894." Abby raised her voice and annunciated very clearly: "USMC Expert Rifle Badge. Bronze Star. Purple Heart. Vietnam Service Medal-Gibbs, this guy was scary! He served in Da Nang under the 3rd Marine Ambhibious Brigade and joined the service almost the minute he turned seventeen. But there's... I mean, it says he died in 2006... but..."

Abby fell silent until Gibbs' impatience won out. "What, Abby?"

"His body disappeared, Gibbs. Gone. Not so much as a trace. He was declared dead at the hospital and then his body disappeared-"

"_Abby_."

"Right! More info. Okay, Dean and his brother have a few school records but after that... like... three times they pop up at different states and different times in ten years before they fell off the grid entirely. They resurface... I mean, it's like playing bop-the-groundhog at Chuck E Cheese's. So, this is the first time Dean has been officially spotted in like... ten years. And Sam... nothing. I mean... it's hinky."

She paused for a quick breath. "The _other_ guy is Jimmy Novak, a radio salesman. Disappeared 2008. No other records. You know, people don't just disappear, Gibbs. But these guys..." she shook her head. "It's beyond weird."

Gibbs searched the hall way ceiling. Abby's information may or may not mean Winchester was a criminal. He reflected a long moment and debated whether or not to deal with Winchester on a legal matter, or let the whole situation drop and concentrate on the campground massacre. "Alright. Call me back when you have something more, Abby."

He clicked off to return to his interrogation with Dean. Abby pursed her lips. "Of course there's more," she said to herself. "How could there _not_ be more? What are we looking at? Twenty-six people dead. A campground that looks like a battlefield and two strangers that land in town, sniffing around for something." she let her brain simmer a moment then the light hit her.

Abby tackled her computer. "Maybe they're looking to see who... was... in charge."

Gibbs just ended his useless interrogation with Winchester when Abby called him back: "There is something more," she added.

"Glad to hear it," Gibbs grumbled. He waited, "well, Abby?"

"Four months ago, Captain P. Larson forked out a pretty penny to set up reservations there at Bitter Creek. He reserved eleven cabins and then at the last minute, added one more for a Lorena Eastman and her eleven year-old daughter."

Gibbs mentally shot through all the possibilities. "Relation?"

"Not even distant cousins. Turns out there's money involved. Lorena Eastman was also stranded there in Darby. I don't know if she even had plans to find her way back home. Also, Captain Larson invited two marines on leave to join the camp. One Private Ian Isler and Corporal Brian Kahsler. They're both Billings residents. Everyone else either served with Larson or worked under him."

Gibbs thanked Abby, clicked off the phone and mulled over the info. At least they had names and places. Gibbs hit instant dial on his cell. "Hey, Ziva? You interested in a little road trip?"

Sam lay in bed, his head a mass of pain. Even his favorite George Winston selection failed to soften the ache. He accepted the phone from Bobby and relaxed as his surrogate father laid a cool cloth over his eyes and tugged the window blinds closed. Sam drew a shuddering breath. "Hey, Dean," he said softly.

"Hey, Sammy. How goes it?"

"Mm. Bobby had to take my shoes off when I fell asleep. Again."

"'nuther migraine, Sam?"

"That's _Mr. Migraine_ to you, Dean."

"Owch."

"Yeah," Sam moaned.

Dean paused and wished he could have been there for Sam. What was it with the universe that it could not play fair? "Hey," he piped up. "Lemme speak to Bobby."

Sam's body lost its strength to sleep's overwhelming power. "'kay," he said with effort. Bobby took the phone, laid a light cover on Sam and quietly left the room. He tapped downstairs and into the library before answering Dean. "That crap Sam's taking has more side-effects than a witch's brew gone bad."

"I know," Dean answered quietly. "I'll take him back to the doctor when we get back."

"Speaking of brew," Bobby followed as he sat at his desk, "what's cooking in your direction?"

"Well, they got NCIS out here, you know that. They're not happy. Couple of their agents are dead already. And Bobby, there's signs and crap all over the camp sight."

Bobby poured himself a forth and hesitated, eyes narrowed. "Dean, are you in jail?"

"Don't worry. Unless they want to charge me with trespassing on a crime scene, they can't hold me longer than twenty-four."

"What about Castiel?"

"Yyyeeeah... they'll give him a room for the night, too. He just _had_ to open up and let them know... 'Angel of the Lord' and all that. I guess that makes me look like Pinoccio."

"Well, if things go sideways, you make yourself scarce. You hear me, Dean?"

"Yeah, Bobby. Yeah."

"_Nine-one-one_. What's your emergency?"

"_Maggie! I gotta speak to James! Hurry!"_

"_Patty, Patty, tell me what's wrong?"_

"_Egbert's gone! We've looked everywhere-the doors are still locked and he's gone!_

"_Did you see anything?"_

"_It's all over my ceiling!_" she screamed and the receptionist/dispatch tried to contain her own outburst.

"_Patty! You must calm down-"_

"_There's something outside! It's huge! There's something_-"

the line dropped dead.

Gibbs lay in bed. The TV played an old John Wayne movie. He needed sleep; he, Ziva and road trip at 09:00. But the case rolled around his head like a set of loaded dice.

The motel phone rattled him off the bed and the special agent grabbed it. "Yeah?"

Eight minutes and two doors down, Gibbs banged on Tony's door. "Missing kids," he said against the barrier. "Car. Now."

Dean resigned himself to a night on a slab of mattress. Some older, night-watch deputy coated in stubble stopped by with a smirk and offered a tray topped with warm fast food.

"Whose daughter did you run off with, son?"

"No one's," Dean opened the bag and grinned, pleased to find a better meal than he would have bought himself. "Hey," he called before the cop took an exit on stage left. "Didn't get any news. Anything new going on? Just, you know, heard something out there."

"Two more boys are missing." the deputy answered casually. "They're out looking for them right now."

Dean swallowed his mouthful whole. "What time is it?"

"Quarter to two A.M."

"When were the kids reported missing?"

"An hour ago. Snatched right out of their homes."

"Brothers?"

"No."

Dean sipped his vanilla shake. "Spooky."

The deputy shrugged. "Town's favorite word this week."

Dean nodded and the deputy made to leave again. "Hey," Dean called back. He smiled when the older fellow glowered. "Could you tell my friend in the trench coat that I'm okay?"

Dean finished his dinner in silence and reclaimed the fake bed. The lack of TV or radio left him open to dreams; something Dean didn't want to deal with. But darkness took him just the same and he floated in the quiet.

Not long after, the jangle of keys roused him and he moaned to life.

"Hey," Gibbs' not-so-melodious voice ordered Dean's attention. "Wake up, BRAT."

Dean huff a half laugh at that and sat up. "You sound like my dad."

"You still interested in what's going on?"

That snapped Dean's head into gear and he stood. "Yeah. But why-"

Gibbs waved his whole arm as he turned about face. "Rule Number Five. Come on."

Dean shadowed the agent outside. Chilly night air made him grimace. Castiel waited at the curb as a black sedan rolled toward them. Gibbs slipped into shotgun. The Ziva-woman appeared from nowhere. She opened the door and invited their two guests in with a look.

Dean nervously smiled.

DiNozzo drove off and Dean wondered how he was going to get back to the Impala. "So!" he said, breaking the uncomfortable quiet, "where are we headed?" He spotted a clock on the dashboard and winced at the time; 2:25 A.M.

"Small house on Tanner. One of two places."

"Okay."

Gibbs half turned and rested his eyes first on Castiel then Dean. "The parents are hysterical. So try to watch what you say around them."

They parked beside two police cars and beheld an older home with box-frame windows, peeling paint and untrimmed bushes. The family dog rushed against the backyard chainlink fence. It barked its lungs out and bit the air with each sound. As the group of investigators approached the front porch, Castiel held his left palm toward the dog. He gradually lowered his hand, the dog fell quiet.

Gibbs rang the bell and the door opened to a room occupied with several cops, a neighbor and two grieving parents. Dean stepped in behind DiNozzo and tugged Castiel close.

"You sense anything?" he asked the angel.

"Something has been here."

Dean glared. "Can you... elaborate on that? I don't have my EMF meter."

"It's neither demonic nor non-corporeal, Dean." Cass furrowed his brows and tilted his head just a fraction. "It _smells_ old."

While Gibbs dealt with the sheriff, his team and the parents, Castiel meandered into the kitchen. Sam's brother followed and noticed framed photos of three children on the wall to his right just before he passed into the kitchen. Dean's eyes shot in all areas; the greasy ceiling, the dirty floor, the unwashed windows and doors. Castiel searched the ceiling then the nearest window.

Dean examined the same window and pointed to the ledge where knives or claws scraped through old paint along the sill. Castiel silently nodded and searched the ceiling once again. Dean found what his friend traced; two sets of four puncture marks patterned across the ceiling as though something walked upside down.

"What the hell?" Dean kept his voice down and followed Castiel down a dark hall and up the stairway. The distant voices of worried parents reached the middle of the steps. Dean paused, glanced down and when he looked back up, found himself one step above Ziva. She smiled coldly; her eyes dark with suspicion. Dean played her game and kept his own expression under wraps. He caught up with Cass who took the first room on the right.

All three investigators scanned the room up, down and three-sixty. Model airplanes sat on dusty shelves. A small TV with a jumbo game consol occupied the dresser; game cartridges crowded around it and lay along the floor. An unmade bed betold of child-snatching. The bedspread dragged along the floor, indicating the abducted boy tried to hold onto something. The spread pointed to the closet and Dean scrunched in front of the door, touching nothing.

Casting his eyes on the angel, Dean found Cass' attention on the ceiling again. The same prints found in the kitchen punctured the bedroom ceiling.

Ziva's voice interrupted the silence. "What are those?"

"Tracks, from the look of them," Dean replied. He stepped into the hall and flipped the lights. "And odds are they're not from the satyr."

More prints trailed parallel to the stairs and back to the kitchen.

"I don't understand," Ziva examined the door for prints or tell-tale signs of foreign use. "Why go to all the trouble of walking along the ceiling? Or maybe the perpetrator used some sort of device-"

Dean interrupted her, "the prints aren't coming from the kitchen," he deduced. "They originate from the closet."

"What?" Ziva reached into her coat pocket and produced her cell phone.

As the agent gave Gibbs her update, Castiel stood beside Dean in front of the closet. "What kind of creature or person travels through a building by a ceiling?"

"I dunno," Dean answered in a quiet voice. "New one on me. No sulfur. No ectoplasm, no cold spots, wet marks and nothing at the bedroom window at all."

"Maybe it came in through the kitchen window and backtracked." Cass suggested.

Dean shook his head. "Possible, but not likely. Backtracking usually leaves messy marks. Wish I had my EMF reader."

Cass glanced over his shoulder to make sure Ziva wasn't in the room. He spoke and kept his voice very quiet. "What about your camera?"

"Oh! Right." Dean slipped his left hand into the armpit of his jacket sleeve and produced the digital camera. He snapped a photo of the closet door, the post, the bedspread and toed the door open for three more photos. Just before Ziva returned, he took one photo of the bedroom ceiling. He stashed the camera in his pant pocket and kept his face straight.

"They found fibers at the kitchen window," the agent informed them. "There's been another abduction and Gibbs wants to go. Now." Dean did not object. He wished for the millionth time he had his cell phone.

The second abduction took place just outside town limits on South Main Street. Several double-wide trailers occupied the outskirts. They hugged the back end of dirt roads behind fruit trees and a horse barn. Dawn lit the world as the team and their temporary captive allies disembarked from the car. Sheriff Lightwater emerged from his vehicle and followed the team to the front door.

Again Gibbs rang the front doorbell and greeted a heavy-set woman in her forties. She opened the door without a smile. Her sunken eyes gazed upon the party with no hope for answers.

"Chloe," Lightwater tapped his hat.

"Mrs Chavez," Gibbs proffered his hand for a shake. "I'm Special Agent Jethro Gibbs, NCIS. This is Special Agents Tony DiNozzo, Ziva David and um..." Gibbs pasted his gaze on Dean.

"Dean Winchester," Dean offered his hand but did not receive a shake. He searched the ceiling for the same tell-tale signs of puncture-prints but found none.

Mrs. Chavez rotated her assessing stare from one person to another. "I just heard... did you find anything at Patty Ansel's house?"

Tony answered for the investigators: "We found some strange prints on the ceiling, claw marks on the kitchen windowsill and fibers."

Mrs. Chavez nodded and sent her eyes to her husband who currently discussed the same matter with the deputy. "Why don't you come with me." She led them down a short hall and into her son's room. She flipped the light switch and stepped aside for the team to find places in the bedroom. "Tell me, James, how's Patty doing?"

"Honestly? Not so good."

Dean listened to the small talk while the other two FBI agents searched the room for the typical, by-the-book abduction. They looked for prints and fibers or other tell-tale signs. He studied the closet then directed his attention to his angel friend who nodded, assuring Dean the indications were the same as the Ansel house.

"Excuse me," he said, interrupting the trite conversation. "Uh, did your son ever complain about noises at night? Something scratching the window, or tended to leave the window open? Maybe something under his bed or in the closet?"

Chloe sighed and shuddered. "Uhh... he always had a hyper-active imagination. He, uh, said someone was watching him."

Tony perked up after looking under the bed. "At school?" he asked.

"Well, everywhere. Sometimes he'd come in from playing outside and I'd find him sitting in the corner of his room."

Dean searched for books or a backpack. "Do you know if he has any drawings or-"

"He's got stuff he drew on the computer."

"Can I see that?"

Dean followed Patty into the kitchen while Gibbs answered his cell phone. Patty activated the computer, opened the appropriate program and called up several of her son's drawings. Dean sat at the table and scrutinized the works. Figures with long faces, long hands and hollow eyes appeared in each drawing, either as a background figure, or in a prominent pose. The same figure always held a bag in its left hand.

Tony joined Cass and Dean. He drew up a chair and sat in it backwards. "Creepy picture. Looks like McGeek's last date. You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear that was the boogeyman. Think there's any such thing?"

"I dunno," Dean replied with a similar tone. "Ever been visited?"

Mrs Chavez folded her arms, her eyes hard with annoyance. "Are you people just going to sit there and crack bad jokes about make-believe monsters, or are you really going to start looking for my son?"

Dean knocked a knuckle on the monitor. "Did your son ever say he saw something like this?"

"A monster? No. Clay was a practical boy. He went to school, played video games."

Castiel studied the distraught mother with calm poise. "You said he was afraid of something."

She huffed. "He's _twelve_. He was probably spooked by some kids at school-"

Dean interrupted: "Is he a latch-key?"

Chloe glared. "Sometimes. Okay? But only for an hour or two. I have to work-we both do. But Clay knows he's not allowed to go anywhere or talk to strangers. He comes right home after school-look, this happened at _night_. We heard him scream. I went to his room, turned on the light and he wasn't there anymore."

"Did you see any strange lights?" Dean quickly pressed. "Did you hear anything unusual?"

She gave hesitation for thought. "There was light... a flashlight, I suppose. One of those see-in-the-dark lights where everything's green. You know, like you see on TV. But that's all-"

"Where did you see this?" Tony quickly asked.

"From his bedroom." Chloe watched them mull over her words until she could not take their silence any more. "Well?" she demanded. "How are you going to find my son?"

Castiel spoke for all three of them: "we're sorry," he said matter of fact, "these things take time. We need to find connections. There are no prints to go by, no other witnesses-"

Chloe stabbed a finger against Castiel's chest. "Now you look here," she growled. "This is a tiny town. There is no way two boys can just disappear in one night with no leads. You find my son or someone's boss is going to get a letter from me." She narrowed her eyes at the angel but when he did not react, she backed down and returned to her husband.

Dean lightly hit Tony's arm for attention. "Hey, anyway I can get to my car for a few things?"

As tired as they were, DiNozzo shuttled Dean to the embattled campground. Castiel returned to the police station where hours later he exchanged a conversation with Minerva Eastman.

Dean exited the rented black sedan as Tony applied the brakes. DiNozzo killed the engine and stayed with the car as he watched the paranormal investigator disappear into the greenery. He stepped out the automobile and searched the sky through a set of sunglasses before gazing right toward the crime scene.

Unfamiliar odd small shapes dangled from the rain gutters along Cabin Number One. They swung back and forth in the mid-morning breeze. Not trusting his eyes, DiNozzo produced a set of binoculars. "What the hell...?" Without word to Dean, Tony left the car door open and crossed the tape. An unusual, non-human shape skitter across the ground several yards ahead.

It did not look like any animal Tony recognized.

Dean found the Impala exactly as he left it; untouched, if a little dusty. He produced the hidden camera, popped the trunk and scrounged for his spare cell phone.

"Hey, Sammy," he greeted the second his brother picked up the phone. "Uh, looks like we're going to be here another couple of days."

"_Okay_," Sam accepted after registering what Dean just said.

"Hey, everything all right?" Dean paused before reaching for his pistol.

"_Oh... just... you know. The norm. Bobby's set up an appointment for me._"

"Okay." Dean waited for more information and when it wasn't forthcoming, he leaned against the car and fought the Big Brother instinct to just take off and head back. "Sam? Should me and Cass-"

"_No, Dean. I already found out about the missing boys. Is there anything I can do to help?_"

"Yeah!" Giving something for Sam to do would ease both their worries. "I got photos. Lots of monster porn. You interested?" he smiled when Sam sniggered.

"_Yeah, Dean. I'm all game. As long as there's cleavage involved_."

Dean clicked his tongue. "Such a healthy, if dirty mind. By the way, Sammy, you were right about the camera. Takes really good pics." Dean connected the camera to the phone and addressed the uplink to Sam's account. "How's Marco?" he asked off-handed.

"_Gave me a bath earlier_." Sam grunted.

"Good girl!" Dean grinned broadly. "Okay. Sammy, I got the connector set. I'm going to get off now and send this to you."

"_Be careful, Dean_." Sam said.

"Hey, you know me..."

"_Yeah. Be careful Dean_," Little Brother repeated.

Dean laughed, tucked the phone and camera in a safe place and closed the trunk. He claimed the driver's seat and sighed, glad to have his baby back. Dean abruptly remembered Tony parked the sedan at the end of the path, blocking the Impala's exit. Dean grunted and tailed it back to the main road. The sedan sat waiting with its driver's door open. Sam's brother scanned for the agent, assuming he left to take care of 'personal business'. But he found Tony several yards off, past the yellow tape, staring across the campground.

"Hey, Dude," Dean called. "Need to pull the car forward... what the hell?" Dean caught up with DiNozzo and stared at cabin Number One. Dangling from the cabin's eaves, the bodies of several small animals swung like slabs of meat. Dean recognized a couple of squirrels, a badger, an opossum and two snakes.

Rounding from the back of the cabin, a humanoid shape emerged, walking on two animal legs. Mesmerized, Dean held his breath, unable to believe what he saw.

"What the hell is that thing?" DiNozzo asked under his breath.

Dean winced when the creature grinned in their direction and approached on a set of goat's hooves. Standing five and a half feet high, the beast, half man, half goat, moved fluidly. A set of horns protruded from its skull. A set of pointed ears peeked from a shrub of long, light brown hair.

It spoke with a smooth, baritone voice and paused a yard from the staring men. Its creepy black eyes roved between DiNozzo and Dean until they settled on Dean. It sniffed the air.

"What did it say?" Tony asked.

It took a moment for Dean to recover from shock before he realized the satyr spoke with words he knew. "Oh, uh, we're investigating the deaths of the people here. Wh-what-uh..."

The Satyr took another two steps. "_You have the stench of angels about you. Who are you? And where is my Thyrsos?_"

Dean tapped Tony with the back of his hand. "We were just leaving," he answered in Ancient Greek.

"What?" DiNozzo tore his stare off the beast.

"Go," Dean ordered quietly. "Now."

The Satyr snarled and produced a wooden flute. "NO ONE LEAVES HERE ALIVE!"

Dean and Tony aimed for the sedan as the satyr blew two high-pitched notes. The sound pierced through DiNozzo but it was Dean who fell to his knees, clamping hands over his ears.

The sedan blew to pieces and neither investigator recalled anything more.

39


	4. Bad Cartoons

Chain Reaction ch 4

Pg 23

Bad Cartoons

At the time Gibbs and DiNozzo grilled Dean, Sheriff Lightwater tackled Castiel. Special Agent McGee offered his assistance but allowed Lightwater to take the first crack.

"I am Castiel."

"Catsteel what?" Lightwater didn't like the intense blue eyes. He felt like a bug under a microscope.

"Castiel."

"Catsteel Catsteel?"

"No," the angel answered patiently. "It's just Castiel."

"What's your last name?"

"Angels don't use last names," Cass replied evenly. "We do not have parent linage. Therefore we do not have use for a surname."

"Excuse me... what?"

"We seem to have encountered a conversational impasse." Cass sat, unmoved and calm like a Vulcan in an ion storm.

"You said 'angel," Lightwater didn't like dealing with lunatics. "You just said 'angel," he repeated when Castiel said nothing more.

"I am an angel of the Lord," Cass said stiffly. He didn't want to lie, although the truth promised more complications.

Lightwater blew out an exasperated sigh. "Well, the good thing is... Catsteel, all we gotta do is wait for the FBI or NCIS or whatever to run your ID."

"I'm not in your databases," Cass added, "however, you may find my vessel's ID."

"Excuse me?" Lightwater inclined slightly. "Your what?"

"My vessel. Jimmy Novak."

The sheriff dropped silent and stared. Confusion kept his expression neutral. "Is... ah... is Jimmy Novak supposed to be your super-secret identity?"

"I don't use an alternate identity."

Small town sheriff verses culturally ignorant angel. The frustrated sheriff gave up. "Okay. I'm gonna let someone else take over and you can spew your bullshit at them."

Without another word, Lightwater traded places with McGee.

Castiel kept calm and poised although he sensed Sam's distress and prayed for someone to comfort Sam.

The NCIS agent took Lightwater's chair and set a manilla folder between them.

"Hi," McGee greeted.

"Hello." Cass returned.

"Was just wondering what you did to tick the sheriff off."

"We failed to communicate at an amicable level."

McGee slowly nodded. "Okay." he waited for more details but the stranger was not talkative. "Well, then, ah... how about you tell us what you and that other guy were doing at the crime scene?"

Castiel clasped his hands together and leaned closer. He gazed at the NCIS agent as if reading the mans' soul. "We meant no harm or wrong doing. Dean and I were investigating the area for potential paranormal activity."

McGee stared with the very same expression as the sheriff. "You're a... Ghostbuster?"

"We came here to look into the probable presence of a satyr. Although, it's never been known for a satyr to cause destruction let alone murder. Satyrs are usually more interested in wine than blood shed."

"Huh." slightly more open-minded than his boss, McGee opened the folder and carded out the photos from the scene. "What do you make of these?"

Ignoring the damaged cabins, the bodies and the carnage, Cass picked out the photo taken of the broken pottery. "Where was this?"

"At the crime scene, about fifty yards northwest of cabin Number One." McGee tried to read the angel's expression and determine Castiel's M.O. but Timothy McGee was not a specialist in psychology. He frowned and waited.

"This appears to be of Classical Greek art, although without holding the pieces myself, it might be nothing more than a good..." Castiel stared at the edges of the photographed shards. "It appears... the iron oxide and calcium oxide contents here are in direct proportion to the clay used during that time period." Cass raised his eyes to McGee.

McGee tilted his head slightly left and his eyes lit with restrained annoyance. "We're not here to discuss the craftsmanship-"

"It's important that we know for certain what we're dealing with." Castiel answered in similar tones. "If the perpetrator is human, then Dean and I can return home and leave the situation to the police. If it's something else, then we must prepare for another encounter. What about the Thyrsos?"

"I'm sorry. The what?"

Maggie approached Lightwater with a fax and a frown. She proffered the paper over and plopped just as wordless to her desk. Lightwater glanced over the sheet and mentally growled at the NCIS report regarding Dean Winchester and Jimmy Novak. He reached for the door handle to confront 'Mister Novak' when Maggie notified him of a phone call at the front office.

James sighed heavily. He itched to lay it into Novak and charge him for falsifying information. The sheriff plucked up the old phone from his desk and stiffly claimed his chair. "Sheriff's office. Lightwater," he droned. He perked up at the sound of a boy's voice. McGee emerged from the interrogation room and resumed his residence at the other desk. Lightwater pointed to the phone, silently ordering McGee to take up the line. "Yeah, Austin," he said with friendly, supportive tones, "I wouldn't have forgotten you, buddy. Are you doing alright?"

Tim picked up the receiver and eavesdropped as a twelve year-old boy spoke as though he were eighteen.

"Well, no," Austin answered. "But Minerva said we need to talk."

"Now, Austin, we've been through this. You don't have to do anything-"

"She said we should talk to the angel."

McGee flinched with surprise. Lightwater leaned back in his chair, expression turned inward as he searched for an appropriate response. "Uh, well... I'm not sure if-"

Austin sighed impatiently. "Sheriff, I know you don't believe in angels. But Minerva said there's one here and I know she's not lying. She said that we have to talk cuz it's a responsible thing."

Sheriff Lightwater rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, alright. Uh, I'll come by and grab you and Minerva-"

"I can't leave Penny here by herself." Austin insisted. "She'll freak."

Lightwater leaned over his desk, burdened with concern. "Austin, have you discussed this with Mrs. Minch?"

"Sheriff, she didn't lose her parents. We want to talk."

"Fine. I'll inform Mrs. Minch and pick you and the girls up, then."

McGee waited until both parties clicked off before he copied. His face scrunched, perplexed. "How did he know we had someone here who claimed to be an angel?"

"He didn't." Lightwater tugged up his jacket off a hook and armed himself with a radio. "Minerva's... special. When do you think your boss will finish interrogating the other suspect?"

"No telling. Depends on what he finds out."

Lightwater donned his old hat. "I see. Well, while I'm out, you guys can draw straws as to who talks to the kids."

McGee hesitated. "Yeah. But the kids said they want to talk to Novak."

"You are not serious." Lightwater's skepticism pinched his face. He pointed an angry finger toward the hall and thereby the interrogation room. "If I had my way, that lunatic would never see the light of day even if he was on medication. I'll be right back."

McGee watched Lightwater drive out the parking lot. The agent leaned back and considered resuming his discussion with Castiel. He pursed his lips together in a resolute grimace and stood just as Gibbs came flying out the hall, jacket, cell phone and badge in hand.

"McGee, Ziva and I are taking off for Billings to follow a lead. We should be back in a few hours... where's Lightwater?"

"On call," the agent simply answered. He opened his mouth to ask a question but shut it, knowing the answer. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on everything."

Gibbs lightly nodded as Ziva appeared from another office. They departed as swiftly as the sheriff, leaving McGee with reluctant babysitter syndrom. The NCIS computer techy wondered if Sheriff Lightwater abandoned Castiel in the interrogation room or locked the self-proclaimed angel in a cell. Before choosing to look into it, McGee's cell phone jingled for attention. Tim snapped out the iphone. "Hey, Abby!" McGee greeted cheerfully.

"Heeeyy!" the NCIS forensic specialist grinned in greeting. McGee sat forward, iphone between his hands. He grinned at Abby's pretty smile. "Where's Gibbs?" she asked, " He's not answering his phone."

"Oh, uh. He and Ziva left for Billings five minutes ago. Didn't say why. Whaddya have for us?"

Abby held up a small lock-and-seal baggie between finger and thumb. "The fibers I got this morning? One hundred percent hemp. And they're old. Like, really, really old. And if I didn't know any better, I'd say they were hand-spun."

McGee distorted his features with confusion. "Well, there's lots of places that hand-spin stuff, Abbs. There's people who hand-spin alpaca fiber."

"That is true," the science specialist confirmed with a lifted finger. "However, how many people or places are there on this planet that use whale oil to preserve fiber?"

"Uhh..."

"Exactly my point! These fibers? I think they're a few hundred years old."

McGee's eyes roved upward as he struggled to let a thought through. "So... our person of interest has been in a place that... maybe sells antique yarn made of hemp?"

"My guess."

The office door opened and Sheriff Lightwater stepped in, followed by three children; a pre-teen boy and two girls under twelve. The door closed by itself then opened again for a tall lanky woman. Her stoic face, high-fashion dress and cropped hair told McGee she wasn't exactly the fun-mommy type.

"I gotta go, Abby. Hopefully we'll have more to send you." he hung up and stood. "Hi," he greeted the group.

Lightwater turned just enough to mediate: "Alexis, this is NCIS Special Agent McGee. McGee, this is Alexis Minch, CPS. She's here in interest of the kids. Let me get the place set up and uh, you can interview them first, Agent McGee."

Tim pursed his lips in a smile and warily eyed each child.

Twenty minutes dragged into a frustrating afternoon. McGee suffered through a vocabulary of extremes.

"_I have to go potty."_

"_Minerva and me agreed we'd only speak to the angel."_

"_What's it mean 'spe'sil ajunt? And can I have a drink of water?_

"_We did not acquiesce to an interrogation only to get bypassed by government interference!"_ That was not Mrs. Minch who said it, but eleven year old Minerva. Her brown eyes drilled into McGee. "We will communicate only to the angel!"

"He's not in charge," McGee stated flatly.

"Still have to go potty," the littlest one, Penny, repeated.

The boy, Austin, sighed. "Come on, Penny. I'll take you potty." He rose and led the little girl by the hand. Minerva and McGee watched until the door closed.

Minerva sat back with crossed arms and zipped lips. McGee, having little to no experience with children, drummed his fingers, waiting. The girl glared. "Are you really going to sit there and silence me into boredom? It won't work."

"We're trying to help you," Tim returned.

"You're not _listening_. You expect me to play by your rules because you're an adult. You take advantage of my painfully obvious inexperience because you're older. It doesn't mean you're mature. I refused cooperation from the start because I am currently experiencing trust issues."

"Oh!" Tim boomed. He momentarily forgot he was speaking with a child, "you're not willing to talk to an agent of the government, but you'll trust some lunatic who claims he's an angel? How do you know that Jimmy Novak thinks he's an angel, anyway?"

The little girl's glare shot through him. "I refuse to convey further information until I speak to the angel."

McGee sighed, frustrated with the lack of progress. Ten minutes, four simple questions and the brainiac brat insisted on speaking with the psycho.

A small red light flashed nearby the door, indicating someone outside the interrogation room wanted to speak. McGee tugged a trying smile over his lips. "Hold that thought."

He slipped into the hallway as Austin and Penny emerged from the bathroom. They passed him with hot glares and returned to their seats. Sheriff Lightwater stepped out the observation room and kept his voice down.

"This isn't working." McGee said on the spot.

"Oh, noticed that, did you?" Lightwater snapped.

Tim glared with practiced ease. "What's it going to hurt to let them speak to Novak?"

"Well, first of all, the wacko is neither a cop nor an FBI agent. Secondly, he's a lunatic who should be in a padded-"

McGee loudly sighed. "Look, if the kids are willing to talk to him, then I say let 'em have at it. I need information. I don't care who gets it."

Lightwater huffed a sigh. "I don't like catering to kids. Not one of them in there is above the age of thirteen!" the Sheriff didn't appreciate McGee's annoyed expression. "Fine," he growled. "But not longer than ten minutes! And only the boy and his sister. Mrs. Minch doesn't want Minerva in there with the wacko."

Eight minutes later, they removed Minerva from the room and Castiel gracefully stepped in. The children's faces lit up with smiles. The angel settled across Austin and Penny as Lightwater popped into the room with a writing tablet and ink pen.

"Now listen up, Novak," he snarled into Cass' left ear, "No funny stuff. It's bad enough they think you're an angel... Catsteel. Whatever-"

Penny gasped with a deep breath, "CAS TEE EL!" she exclaimed. Austin elbowed her with a warning look. "Well, it's true!" she protested. "They never get the angel's...'s name right." then she pouted.

Lightwater's glare jumped from the children to the angel like a child whose hand had been slapped. "Ten minutes," he snapped. "Not a moment longer."

Cass watched Sheriff Lightwater rush out the room.

He leaned forward and examined each child with his hands folded on the table.

Penny stared at him in wonder then whispered something in her brother's ear. Austin rolled his eyes, glowered at the little one then frowned at Castiel. "My kid sister wants to know if you have wings."

"I do," Cass replied quietly. "Most angels have wings."

"How come we can't see them?" Penny challenged.

"Angel wings are poly-dimensional which enables us to travel through space and across earth. They are not locked in time like your bodies are."

A light smile ghosted across Austin's face. "My sister thinks you're beautiful and says she wants to marry you."

"Na-uh!" Penny denied. But her awe betrayed her objection.

"Thank you, Penny." his voice fell quiet because it was between he and she. "That's very kind." He held onto her gaze and when she smiled, silently confessing the truth, Cass turned back to Austin. "What did you wish to talk with me about?"

Austin hesitated and turned to his sister. "You go first, Penny. Tell him what happened."

"Nuh-uh. You go first. You're older." the little girl with straight brown hair and sad dark eyes cast a look to rival Sam's puppy face. She squirmed nervously and bit her lower lip.

Austin huffed. "Fine. We went camping cuz my dad's buddies said there was good fishing."

"At Bitter Root." Castiel added.

The boy nodded. "We were there for like, four days. It was a three-week thing. My sister and me were in cabin Number Eight. Minerva Eastman an' her mom were in Number Nine. Minerva's dad was just killed. Her mom was really upset and I think she drank because of it. A lot. Minerva always asked us to play with her and then asked if she could spend a night with us. We let her. Mom said it was okay. But we asked her mom again the next night and her mom said no."

Castiel tilted his head slightly. "Did you know she had cats?"

"Kit'ns," Penny corrected with a little voice.

Austin frowned. "Yeah. She had two kittens she brought from home; Peanut and Captain Mouse. We really liked them."

Cass lined his lips. "Do you know what happened to the cats?" he averted his eyes from Austin to Penny for a second. The little girl's face fell with sadness and she bowed over.

Austin laid a hand on his sister's. "She said her mom went crazy and killed them. Her mom drank. I think it made her crazy. Really crazy."

Castiel glanced at the writing pad and the page filled with questions McGee jotted down for him. "Austin, the campground was destroyed. How is it that your, your sister and Minerva escaped?"

Austin studied his own hands a moment and swallowed hard. "Minerva ran to our cabin and said her mom had a knife and was going to kill her. I wanted to tell my mom but Minerva begged me not to. She just wanted to hide. So we went to the creek and stayed there."

"The entire night?"

"Yeah. Cuz we heard screams and Minerva was afraid her mom was doing other stuff. We heard all kinds of awful things."

Penny brought her knees up and wrapped her slender arms around them. "It was scary," she said with a muffled voice. "We were scared."

The boy met the angel's gaze; his eyes old with fear. "Breaking wood. Maybe bones." Penny started to cry and Austin tugged her into his lap.

Castiel remained silent, fully aware the adults in the next room fought and argued whether or not to continue the interview. Alexis Minch flew out the observation room to interrupt the questioning but found the door locked. She was not aware that all her shouting and pounding did not penetrate either door or wall. The children heard only his voice.

Cass laid gentle eyes on Austin's sister. "Be at peace, Little One," he soothed. "You are not alone. Take this, gain strength from it so you may help others when the time comes." He studied Austin's expression. "It was incredibly brave of you to come and tell your story, Austin."

The boy shrugged. "It was Minerva's idea."

"How did she know I was an angel?"

"Minerva's... not like us-not like humans, I mean. I thought she was just being weird when she said Bitter Root was sacred ground. But I think it's more than that... her, I mean."

Castiel carefully chose his words so the children were not directly reminded how they lost their parents. "Did she say whether or not she knew what or who destroyed the campground?"

Penny answered with another tiny voice. "Her mommy."

"No," Austin argued. "Her mom didn't do it."

"She did too!" Penny pulled away, slipped off her brother's lap and stared him down. "Her mommy killed the kitt'ins and she made something mad! And then we walked all the way back to town and mommy's dead! MOMMY'S DEAD!"

Penny's scream unleashed Mrs. Minch's fury. She swore, threatened then hauled out her iphone to end the ridiculous interview. Sheriff Lightwater yanked the ringing phone out of her hands, demanded her to calm down and sent a lady deputy into the interrogation room to firmly retrieve the children.

Lightwater locked Castiel back in his dimly lit cell without a word and sternly reminded the angry CPS rep that the children demanded to speak to the... to Jimmy Novak. Why? Unknown. And when Alexis Minch quizzed them herself, Austin and his sister shrugged.

"Castiel doesn't frighten me," Minerva boldly answered her adult guardian pro-temp.

Minch squatted before the indifferent young girl and swept on as gentle a face as she could. But James Lightwater and Tim read the storm brewing underneath. "Sweetie," Minch cooed, "you don't need to resort to speaking to strangers. We're all here for you."

Minerva pushed herself out of Mrs. Minch's tight grip. "You don't understand," she argued. "And I can't explain it to you."

Minch rolled her head, indicating her struggle to control her temper. Frightened by the woman's behavior, Penny quietly whimpered and leaned against her brother for assurance. The CPS rep ordered the children out the door and back to the sheriff's car.

The huffy broad lifted her chin and glared at Lightwater through her reading glasses. "For the children's sake, I'm willing to forget this incident, Sheriff. But it won't happen again."

Ten hours later, they dragged Dean and Castiel to investigate the disappearance of two children: Egbert Ansel and Clay Chavez.

Dean coughed to life and lifted his scratched face off a hard dirt road. His eyes scrunched against the tormenting afternoon glare. He had no idea how long he lay unconscious. Something uncomfortably heavy pinned the backs of his legs and bruised his right thigh. Dean twisted and struggled to roll face up. His limbs revolted and patches of bloody skin burned painfully when touched. Dean paused and caught his breath to keep from swearing and screaming.

He huffed the first word off his lips, "Sam..." It held no sound. His 'inner hunter' screamed at Dean to get off the ground, find a weapon, keep moving. Pushing through the pain, Sam's brother shoved a burnt, smoldering car door off his back legs. He grit his teeth and staggered up. Dean winced as he forced himself to keep breathing. His legs ached. Three second-degree burns colored his lower right arm. Dean mentally inventoried his body for internal damage.

No broken bones. No dangerous gaping wounds or deep gashes. No burnt hair, no broken fingers.

Good start. He tried to swallow with a dry mouth and subtly checked for weapons, salt and holy water. Everything checked out. Combing fingers through his hair, he winced when he found and removed a small rock embedded in his scalp. Scrapes, cuts and scratches marred his lower arms, the left side of his face and bloodied the balls of his hands.

A huff and groan alerted Dean to a presence that was not his brother's.

"Did you get the number of that locomotive? I think the driver's licence needs to be revoked."

Not Sam.

A yard and a half to Dean's right, DiNozzo rolled over, coughed and produced his cell phone from an inside pocket. He laughed. "Aw man! Second cell phone this week. Nice." He lolled his head toward the wrecked car. Shattered windows, blown tires and a well-cooked paint job topped the list of damages. "Ugh. Barbequed sedan. Lucky us. Looks like we're gonna nature-hike it back to town."

Dean stared at the agent half a second before pointing to his own left cheek. "You have a, um..."

DiNozzo touched his face, winced and withdrew three bloodied fingers. "Damn. Almost got capped by a Narnian." He squinted toward the campground then tilted head and eyes toward Dean. "You wanna tell me what that thing was again?"

"A satyr. Or so Bobby and Cass says."

Tony huffed. "You actually believe the Dick Tracy wannabe? He thinks he's an angel."

Dean stood and rotated his left shoulder. "Yeah. And yes, there really is a devil, too."

Tony smiled and fluttered his eyes. "Okay! Batting two for two. Round three: where's the flying carpet that will take us back to town?"

"In the bushes."

They had to clear the wrecked sedan before Dean brought the Impala back to the main road. Whatever weapon the satyr used to blow the innocent car, did so with such finality that there was not so much as a sparkplug left undamaged. Tony rummaged through the debris, hoping no one left anything valuable in the rental.

He grinned, feasting his eyes on the black beauty as Dean's car purred onto the road. DiNozzo opened the passenger door and leaned in, eyes bright with wonder. "This can't be yours. And I'll bet your paycheck will support my argument."

Dean patted the dash. "M' dad left it to me."

"This thing should be a national treasure, man."

Dean beamed proudly as DiNozzo slid in and closed the door. "Better hit the main before Mr. Tumnus comes back and decides to redecorate the road with your car."

Dean nodded and carefully maneuvered out. Tony kept an eye on the mirror, half expecting the fairy tale freak to reappear at the flash of a moment. Then it dawned on him, "hey, how come goatman's little dirty diddy didn't blow your ride to Chevy heaven?"

Dean smiled but did not take his eyes off the road. "My brother spell-proofed the car. The only thing we haven't done with her yet is keep demons from popping into her backseat."

DiNozzo nodded slowly. "Spell-proofing. Demons. Goatmen and things walking on ceilings. You get paid for this?"

"No," Dean shrugged.

"What?" Tony half-laughed. "You mean to tell me there's no super-secret organization out there that hires and directs ninjas or assassins against goatmen, demons or whatever else you do?"

"If there is, I don't know anything about it. I mean, I've _heard_ about something that's out there. But my brother and me aren't affiliated with anything."

Tony shrugged and nodded. "Guess everyone's entitled to a hobby."

Dean eased the Impala onto Main Street and paused for a red light. Neither he nor DiNozzo said a word for ten minutes. Usually Dean didn't like anyone sitting in Sam's place, but Tony eased Dean's uncertainty with lighthearted quips. Dean dared believe he and Tony could be friends... in a fly-by-night fashion.

An old man dressed in jeans and a buckskin tunic crossed the road. He shouldered a leather bag on the left and held a tote bag with the right. He made it half way when the light turned green. Dean waited patiently and caught a warm sensation when the old man's eyes contacted his. Dean offered a light smile and was rewarded when the fellow nodded at him.

"Not something you see everyday," Tony remarked.

"You mean you don't get smiled at very often?"

"No," Tony returned, "seeing someone in half a costume."

"I don't think that was a costume."

Piercing sirens preceded two police cars as they wound their way around traffic. Dean made to pull right but the cars zipped past him before he even flipped his signal light. With a glance at Tony, Dean floored the accelerator and followed, clocking the second cop car at sixty.

Tony held on for life. "Whoa there! Don't you want to head back to the police station and check on your buddy, Jimmy Novak?"

"His name is Castiel," Dean corrected. "And he's fine." Dean tagged the car in a hard swerve right then left. Parking at a discreet distance, Dean jumped out, snapped the trunk open and retrieved his cell phone.

Tony climbed out and watched as the officers bounced out of their vehicles and greeted a frightened couple. The man shouted and pointed to his house. His wife bitterly wept. Tony approached, listening carefully while Dean dialed his cell.

Tony produced his ID, perfectly aware he looked like he'd been dragged off a battlefield. "Officer," he greeted the two who stayed outside. "Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, NCIS. What's going on?"

The older cop nodded toward the house. "Kid was put down for a nap. Mrs. Simerton heard him scream. Found him gone."

DiNozzo nodded toward Dean. "Hey, inside or outside?"

"Outside," Dean answered, the phone affixed to his left ear. He rounded the eastern side as pointed out by the mother while Tony snapped on latex and headed indoors.

"_Yeah_." Bobby's lack of enthusiasm told Dean he had a tough day.

"Bobby, we have another missing kid. A boy. In daylight."

"_Got any signs? Anything outta the ordinary_?"

Dean found the little boy's bedroom window and searched the sill. "Fibers."

"_Whadda they look like?_"

"I dunno. Brown, brittle... kinda like a potato sack." Dean brought them to his nose and flinched. "Smells like... marajuana."

"_Probably hemp, then, Dean."_

"Well, I don't think I know of any ghosts that use, do you?" Dean canvassed the yard and found two more fibers. He searched trees, the general direction of the wind and the position of the sun. "they lead southwest, Bobby."

"_Alright. I'll look into it. But Dean, don't head off half-cocked until we know what we're dealing with."_

"Know what, Bobby?" Bobby grunted a response before Dean continued, "I think we're dealing with more than one monster." he waited a beat. "Bobby?"

"_Dean, yer brother wants t' talk a minute._"

Dean grinned, glad to hear Sam might be feeling better. "Hey, Sammy."

"_Hey_."

"Whatchya been up to?"

"_Being okay_."

Sam sounded nervous. Dean lifted his eyes, but he paid no attention to his surroundings. "Sam, what's going on?"

"_I just... hmmm I just want to make everything okay." _Sam paused and Dean imagined his little brother mentally working around his awkward state of mind. "_I'm sorry if it's childish..._"

"Sammy, what's wrong?"

"_Just dreams... Dean. Things that aren't real."_

Dean swallowed hard. "Do you think it's the meds, Sam? Or something more?" Dean waited as patiently as he could. "Sammy?"

"_I can't... tell. It's... complicating."_

Dean nodded, lost for the right words. "Well... hang in there, Sammy, if you can. We'll try to wrap this up in another day or so."

Sam hesitated. "_Okay. I know you'll be careful._"

"Damn straight, Lil' Bro. I'll talk later." They disconnected and Dean searched the sky. Part of him missed the way his brother was before Dean took his tour of Hell. But he didn't dare complain. Sam could have stayed in Heaven. Insanity was the price he paid for staying with Dean.

Tony's quick-step footfalls announced the agent's presence before he spoke. DiNozzo stripped the latex off his hands. "Find anything?" Tony asked.

Dean waved a small bag containing the fibers. "More friends. Old and smelly."

"Me too," DiNozzo confirmed. "No weird prints on the ceiling, though. Everything indicates whatever took Jackie Paper slipped out the window."

Dean nodded toward a general direction. "The fibers fell along a south-western direction. Makes me wonder if we shouldn't check the last two homes again."

A crunch-snap-scrape caught Dean's ears and his attention shot left.

"What?" Tony asked.

"Heard..." Dean did not finish. He silently hugged the house wall and edged to the corner. He and Tony drew guns simultaneously. Dean swung round, gun at the ready. But his potential prey chalked up a distance between them. Without word to Tony, Dean broke into a hard run. The figure, a head above Sam's height, carried a large hemp sack over his shoulder. A long tattered brown coat fluttered in his wake.

Dean steamed greater effort in the chase. They neared a rickety wooden fence, forcing the abductor to slow enough that Dean stretched to gripped the bag.

Just like some freaky cartoon, an evil face zeroed on Dean from nowhere and encompassed his entire vision. It mirrored his own face but mocked his visage with green skin, bloodshot eyes and a forked tongue. The monster snarled and the half-second it withdrew, it also vanished.

Dean trembled, so surprised, he tripped and hit the ground. Tony caught up and landed a heavy hand on the hunter's shoulder. "I do believe in ghosts," Agent DiNozzo huffed. "I do, I do, I DO."

36


	5. Dearest Mommy

Chain Reaction chapt 4

Dearest Mommy

Gibbs and Ziva left Darby the minute Abby submitted names and addresses. Twenty-five minutes down the highway, (once cell phone reception cleared) Abby emailed a few more interesting odds and ends for their information ammunition. Gibbs brooded as he rocketed their rental along the blacktop, heedless of traffic or scenery. Ziva double-checked all their facts before Gibbs slowed for the first in-town traffic signal.

Stop Number One: home of Ian Isler. Three little dogs yipped and snarled as the agents tapped up the cement steps and knocked at an old screen door. Gibbs held his gaze fast on the front door while Ziva, habitually ever watchful, kept an eye behind them. A chain bolt clinked from the inside. A woman's voice admonished the dogs and the door opened.

Gibbs evaluated her expression and body language through the screen. He nudged Ziva for attention and they dropped open their ID's. "Hi, my name is Special Agent Gibbs, this is Special Agent Ziva David. We're with NCIS."

The lady, somewhere in her early thirty's, shook her head. A plush pink towel wrapped her hair and a matching pink robe kept her body out of public view. One of the dogs yapped again and she scolded it.

Gibbs tucked his ID back. "We're here about Private Ian Isler."

The lady's face drooped with fear and dread. "Oh no," she covered her mouth. She unhitched the hook lock, turned away but left the door open for them to enter. Gibbs led the way and the three little dogs, a Pekinese and two miniature dobermans, lost control.

"Here! Here!" the lady shouted over their noise. "Stop-CHAVI!" she raised her voice, "Come get the dogs!"

Chavi did not come right away. One mini dobi took particular offense at Ziva. It jumped on its little hind legs and displayed mean little teeth. It snapped and yawped until a chunky teenage girl stomped from the back of the house. A lime green facial mask creamed her face. A mass of mis-matched hair rollers bound her hair tight against her scalp.

"She-Ra!" anger edged the girl's voice. She scooped the dog up and smacked it on the nose. "Stop! Without meeting Ziva's eyes, she spun away, snapping her fingers. "Weener! B.C.! Come on!" The other mini dobi galloped to its mistress. The Pekinese, however, lingered, sniffing and snarling at Gibbs. Chavi snapped her fingers again. "B.C.! NOW!"

Chavi's (apparent) mother smiled lightly. "Seems Basket Case likes you, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs forced a polite smile but neither he nor Ziva moved until Chavi dragged the doggy train out the room. The three adults took a seat on the couch and chair round an old scratched coffee table. Their hostess peeled the pink towel from her head. She produced a large green comb from her robe pocket and ran it through a tangle of dark hair.

Her arms dropped and she swallowed hard. "So... so I'm guessing you're here to tell me the bad news." her lips trembled.

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Isler," Gibbs said.

"Oh, I'm not the wife. I'm his sister. I'm the nanny when he's gone. The kids... well, their mother ran off two years ago with some punk in blue hair. I, um, I was in a car accident that left me with a wrecked back and dyslexia. So, since I'm on permanent disability, I needed a place to stay. He needed a nanny for the kids 'n stuff. And Ian's gone-like-most of the time. Chavi, Darry and Alto all needed a regular pad to crash rather than travel across the globe with their dad. I bought this place with my savings, the kids wanted puppies and we're just... like a family..." she batted her eyes against oncoming tears. "Shit, are you _sure_ Ian's dead? Like, for real-sure? Cuz... that makes the kids orphans, don't it?"

"We're really sorry," Ziva answered quietly. "And we're sorry that we have to ask you questions about Private Isler."

The lady nodded head and shoulders before slightly slumping. She pinched her nose and drew a deep breath. "What, uh, whachya need to know?" a shuddering breath shook her whole body although she kept her voice level.

Gibbs leaned forward and supported his elbows by his knees. "What do you know about the camping trip Private Isler took? Was he going with anyone? Was he officially invited-"

"Yeah. Um, Captain Larson came t' the door and asked Ian to spend a few off days up at Bitter Creek. Ian likes t' avoid his parental duties. He's here 'nd gone. Of course, you know Ian, was chums with Captain Larson and Brian. Fishing, boating, baseball, a few bars... Guy stuff."

"Brian?" Ziva knitted her brows. "As in Private Brian Kahsler?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's the effer. I mean, I'm sure he's a good soldier and all. But he'd never make it as a family man. I don't mean he's abusive n' stuff. But he's such an idiot. How could anybody get six different types of traffic tickets in one year? One of them was leaving his mom's dog in a hot car in the middle of the day."

Time tugged at Gibbs' inner workaholic and he decided to get to the point. "Miss... uhh..."

Her face lit up. "Tatty!" her eyes jumped to the ceiling and landed on Gibbs with a sheepish smile. "The kids call me Tatty... _Auntee Tattee..."_

"Tatty," Agent Gibbs repeated. "What can you tell us about Captain Larson? Do you know anything about the camping trip?"

"Larson?" she cawed. Tatty shook her head. "Y'know, I'm not an army wife, but I snoop like one. I listen to all the chatter 'n stuff, y'know? Captain Larson, I guess, is good with all the guys. He invites them to hang out a lot. They're all fishing buddies-"

"Even Private First Class Eastman?"

Tatty's eyes bugged out. "EASTMAN? You mean Lorena Eastman's man? Hell yeah! He had no choice. He HAD to buddy-up."

Ziva turned her head slightly. "Why's that?"

"Well, Eastman owed Larson an arm and a leg. I don't know what he was doing borrowing money. I mean, he's not exactly rolling in the green. But he's dead now, right? and it's no secret that effin' Captain Larson is trying to get his dough back from Lorena."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes. "Is that why Larson invited Lorena Eastman and her daughter to the camping trip?"

Tatty's eyes hardened. "Do you know what 'ulterior motive' means? I didn't want Ian to get too close t' Larson. I don't go out an' about with a lotta people, but I know a low-down when I smell 'em. I know Larson's up to a lotta stuff. I heard through the grapevine that Larson loans out money with low interest but he expects it back when HE wants it back, not when you can pay it back. Ian didn't need money. But I think Larson buddied up with him and Brian and pays them to 'talk' to people who do owe Larson."

Gibbs blinked with subtle doubt. "Do you have any proof of that?"

Tatty's lips turned into a light, sneaky smile. "I got a black book." her face fell again, her eyes dropped to the right. "I guess, uh, Ian won't be needing it anymore." she drew a quick breath. "Let me get that for you."

The clock hit 15:15 (3:15 PM) by the time Ziva and Gibbs escaped Tatty's house and another round of her personal history. They thanked Tatty for the little black book, wished her well and departed for Brian Kahsler's home. His elderly parents and girlfriend took his death hard but they had no information to offer. They invited the NCIS team to attend Brian's funeral. Gibbs promised to be there.

"There is one more thing," the special agent added. "Do you know Captain Larson at all?"

They gave Ziva and Gibbs Larson's address and a second number and address to a business owned and operated by Larson's wife.

"It's a cash advance," Ziva reported after she dialed the business number. "I guess Tatty was right. Seems Captain Larson is doing more than ordering troops and loaning money."

They tracked Larson's present whereabouts by means of a 'well-persuaded' employee at the sterile cash advance office. The marine captain's chubby daughter invited them into the house and directed the NCIS agents to the back yard where Larson lounged at his patio table in blue striped swim trunks. He held a fishing magazine in one hand and a marguerite in the other. He swiftly set the magazine down and stood the moment Gibbs and Ziva descended the three steps.

"What's this?" he demanded.

Gibbs and Ziva flashed their ID's again. "NCIS Special Agents Gibbs and David, Captain Larson. We just have a few questions to ask you."

Larson snorted. His dark eyes nailed Gibbs. "I already told that hick town sheriff that I don't know nothing." He plopped back into his chair and reached for his magazine.

Gibbs remained objective. "What about Private Eastman and his wife Lorena?"

Larson squirmed in his chair. "Well, I didn't know Lorena _personally_, but Jonas Eastman... a sore waste of a good man, a good soldier. Died too soon."

Gibbs noticed how the captain watched Ziva with unusual interest. "You loaned Private Eastman money. Or so his bank account said as much."

Larson shrugged. "Loaned him a little money. Like I said, he was a good guy. Needed it for all the right reasons. So I cut a check."

"Do you know what he did with the money?" Gibbs kept his expression neutral. Ziva sat down and held Larson with an icy stare.

"Yeah," Larson grunted. "Made a down payment on a house for his wife and kid. Look, I didn't kill the guy."

"No one said you did," Gibbs affirmed. "We're just trying to figure out what made Lorena Eastman snap like she did."

"Oh, yeah. She took his death pretty hard; got brutal. Her little girl ended up in the emergency room once or twice."

Ziva folded her arms. "Interesting that you should know that."

Larson shrugged again. "My wife... she knows everybody's story lines."

Gibbs stared, unimpressed. "I thought it was odd how you invited seven families to Bitter Root for the three-week camping trip. But of all the families, only Lorena Eastman and her daughter were invited a few hours after Private Eastman's death... according to her phone records. You wanna explain that oddity, Captain?"

Larson shrugged to define his innocence. "I thought it'd be a nice gesture to invite Lorena someplace where she and her daughter Minerva can just take a breather."

Ziva tilted her head to the right, a smirk pasted her face with suspicion. "Funny you seem to be so interested in their welfare, considering Private Eastman died, owing you such a large sum of money. A hundred, sixty grand, I believe."

Gibbs took that cue, "See, we think you didn't invite Minerva and Lorena to the camp out of the goodness of your heart, but to..." Gibbs protruded his lower lip, bobbed his head with a single-shoulder shrug. "...lean on her a little bit. Let her know that her husband's funeral wasn't nearly as important as you getting your money back."

Larson frowned. His eyes darkened. "Come on. I never laid a hand on her-or her girl."

Ziva lifted her chin, her partial smile turned icy. "No," she concurred, "but what you did to her _car_ left enough a message. Her Ford Taurus was found parked twenty-six miles south of Darby. Fortunately, someone gave them a ride. But Lorena Eastman had no way of leaving Darby. The car was permanently sabotaged. You saw to it she was stranded."

Gibbs kept cool in spite of his growing impatience. "You did everything you could to make sure Lorena Eastman was stranded in Darby. What exactly were you planning, Captain?"

"And with whom?" Ziva added.

Gibbs played off her question: "Did you have anything to do with the disaster at the campground?"

"What?" Larson's eyes widened with surprise. "NO! I mailed her a letter, letting her know I was expecting money. But I didn't do nothing. The only thing I'm guilty of here is loan sharking. Maybe a little emotional harassment. But that's it."

Gibbs rolled his eyes when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He silently checked the caller and scowled at Ziva as he stood. "Alright. Well, don't leave town." He answered the call as he spun about and walked off.

Ziva followed her boss and left the captain with a cat's smile and the silent promise of torment should he do something stupid.

Gibbs made the caller wait until he and Ziva settled safely in the car and out of earshot. Once secured, he hit the phone's speaker button.

"Go ahead, Ducky," he announced.

Ducky's voice wavered with distress. "_I, uh, I had to ask Billings to ship me a second body for comparison to the first victim, Jethro."_ he paused and cleared his throat. "_I have to tell you that, ah... I haven't seen something like this since my days as a cadet. There was a case involving a cult where a news reporter's body was found dumped in a trash bin. Her body had been ripped to shreds by __**hand**__."_

Gibbs furtively glanced at Ziva then trained his eyes forward. "Is that what we're looking at now?"

"_Well... mostly. Except that the bodies here weren't destroyed by more than one person. I mean, the kind of damage we found is... horrific. We found broken bones and organs that weren't sliced, Jethro; they were crushed._"

Agent Gibbs furrowed his brow while his innards clenched in advent of his deduction: "by hand, Ducky?"

"_Exactly,"_ Dr. Mallard answered. _"I contacted the M.E. there in Billings and they concur with my findings; every single person killed in Bitter Creek was brutally struck and their organs crushed_. _Now this is significant because the members of the cult who murdered the news reporter worshiped Dionysus, the Greek god of wine."_

Cold realization chilled Gibbs and made his skin crawl. "Ducky... isn't Dionysus represented by the satyr?"

"_Exactly... exactly. What most people do not realize is that the dark side of the same religion cultivates madness through binge drinking."_

Gibbs digested the tidbit a moment before answering. "Ducky, we found shards of old pottery on the ground. We think-"

"_Was it from a wine goblet, Jethro?"_

"Maybe."

"_The Romans and Etruscans believed spilt wine was a bad omen."_

The agent's mind swirled in a cyclone of facts, myths and denials. He firmly refused to believe they dealt with a ghost or some monster. Yet one event and fact piled atop another like bricks or Legos. "Ducky, you said you believe one person killed everyone?"

"_There is no evidence to the contrary, Jethro. Every single body shares the very same hand prints as the next. No blades or other weapons; just someone's bare hands. I just wish I knew how one person could kill so many people in so short a time."_

Pursuing Corvan Simmerton's abductor took a lot more out of Dean than he initially anticipated. By the time he and Tony reached Darby's police station, Dean thought he'd sleep for two weeks. Tony did not seem quite as affected, despite their near-death experience with the blown sedan and two monster encounters.

Tony burst into the office first, his face light with expectation. But not one soul welcomed him with so much as their presence. He turned to Winchester, confused. "So where'd everybody go?"

Dean and Tony scanned the room until Dean spotted a partly opened door. He nodded in its direction and they entered a short hallway. Sheriff Lightwater greeted them with a weary expression. He leaned against a wall between two doors and tucked a heavy manilla folder under his left arm.

He invited them to approach with a tense nod. "Does someone wanna tell me why I have to star in an episode of _Night Gallery _with a group of G-men and a weirdo whose wacko friend thinks he's an angel?" he asked sharply.

Tony batted his eyes. "No offense, Buford T. Justice, but we're here cuz here, there be marines. As for Bandit and the Angel, here... I can only guess. But if you ask me nicely, I can tell you about something that turned my blood cells white."

Dean pushed his exhaustion away long enough to grin. "You know that makes you Cledus Snow, right?"

Tony playfully flinched. "You think I'd make a good Jerry Reed?"

"I dunno. Hadn't heard you sing."

Lightwater intervened impatiently. "If you two are done, maybe one of you can explain why three children demand to talk about Bitter Root, only to _your friend_ Jimmy Novak."

"His name is Castiel," Dean corrected again.

"Yeah. That's what the kids said."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm getting really tired of everyone treating me like I'm an idiot and a fifth wheel in my own office. What kind of operation are you and Novak playing at? Hmm? Exactly why do those kids think your buddy is an angel?"

Just as Dean opened his mouth to offer a flimsy explanation, the door beside them opened and Alexis Minch peered round the other side. "Sheriff?"

At Minch's signal, Lightwater wordlessly ordered the agent and the hunter into a small, dark observation room. Dean shuddered upon finding Castiel in the interrogation room. He faced a little girl with as grim an expression as Dean himself held as a boy.

Castiel ruminated over Egbert Ansel's and Clay Chavez's disappearances. It wasn't simply that the boys were missing and that their families suffered, but that Castiel smelled death in wake of the tell-tale signs. Castiel's trip through Hell to rescue Dean educated him in ways the angel almost could not grasp. He learned one very important thing in Hell: death has many faces.

Castiel believed that even should they find and rescue the missing boys, those children would never be the same; a living darkness devoured their souls and there are some things that can never be replaced.

Cass did not like leaving Dean with a stranger, NCIS or not. But upon Dean's request, he returned to the office with Sheriff Lightwater. He sat quietly through the morning until Minerva Eastman demanded to speak with him. Once again, against Alexis Minch's preference, Castiel agreed to speak with a minor in the 'white bread' interrogation room.

He settled at the end of the clean table rather than with his back to the observation window. His face, placid as quiet water, concentrated on the girl. "Minerva," he began softly. "Before you say anything, I have been instructed to ask how you know me. How is it that you think I'm an angel?"

Minerva hesitated to answer. "Aren't you supposed to ask me what happened to my mom or how it is that me, Austin and Penny survived?"

"That's on their list also, yes."

The girl dropped her head on her shoulder, eyes glued to the angel. "She killed my kittens. Mom killed my kittens. She was cruel and inconsiderate."

Castiel recognized the answer as a diversion. She did not fool him. He chose to follow her lead and listen to her story. "Was she always this way?"

"I made her nervous," the girl immediately answered. "She called me a freak sometimes. Because I think she felt I wasn't her daughter." Minerva dropped her eyes and hid her hands under the table.

Castiel remained unmoved. "It's not fair when people do that-"

"She called me an abomination."

Castiel blinked, tucked his uncertainty under an indifferent expression and dragged his gaze to the mirror. He did not need to see the sheriff to know he stared directly at James. After a breath he resumed the questioning. "Can you tell me what happened at the campground, Minerva?"

The girl drew a shuddering breath. Her eyes glued to the table. "There was something at the campground." Her voice leveled with a maturity beyond her years. "I think it lives there. I think Mom's actions enraged it. I don't mean like 'angry-mad', but-"

"Insane?"

"Yes."

Castiel gave the child a moment to compose herself before pressing forward. He laced his hands on the smooth, old table and gave her a more intent stare. "What happened the day your kittens were killed, Minerva?" She shrugged. Castiel read a tumble of overwhelming emotions and tangled memories warring within the girl's mind. Something about her, something he could not pinpoint, convinced the angel he was not dealing with a child at all. Cass carefully kept that suspicion to himself. "How about we start from the time you woke up? What did you have for breakfast?"

"I didn't have breakfast." her voice fell small. "Captain Larson visited us early in the morning. He and Mom had a vicious argument. They said some... they used vulgar language. I was afraid to go downstairs."

Cass waited for Minerva to add something more. "Can you tell me what they argued about?"

"Not really. I tried not to listen. Mom blamed him for us being there. She found his business card in the car... when it broke down, I mean."

"Did the argument last a long time?"

"No. Captain Larson departed."

"Meaning he left the cabin?" Cass translated.

"Yes."

Castiel allowed Minerva to fall quiet after that. The child experienced too much for someone her age. After seven minutes, he leaned over the table and kept his voice low, "so what makes you think I'm an angel?"

Minerva caught his gaze. Castiel did not react when her eyes turned gold. "You're very young, Castiel." she answered softly. "You have not yet learned to fully conceal your aura. I also see the broken part of you." She nodded to the mirror, though she saw no one through it. "I can say nothing more. The one person who might understand, attributes people like myself to monsterhood. Not all non-human entities are monsters and not all monsters are evil. You know that. Or, rather, you _should_ know."

Castiel locked into her gaze. Images of war and beauty, of art and laughter flashed through his mind. He blinked and carefully tucked his reaction into a box of self control. "Minerva," he started again, "the man left your cabin. What did your mother do afterward?"

"Drink."

"You were still up in your room?"

"Yes. But after a while, I came down to get food for my cats. Mother was at the kitchen table. She just sat there and stared and drank. I picked up the cat food and... I dunno. She just lost her mind. She knocked the cat food out of my hands, grabbed the knife and went upstairs..." Minerva, a little girl who appeared to be something far more than what her body portrayed, emotionally crumbled and wept.

Castiel laid a hand on hers. "Your mother killed your kittens." She nodded and choked on her tears. Castiel produced a tissue from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

"She killed Peanut! She killed him in front of me and then handed me his head! And then she took Captain Mouse away! I just stood there. I didn't know what to do! I couldn't breathe! And then I dropped Peanut's head and I felt so awful. I ran away. I couldn't stay there anymore. I just ran!"

Minerva used the tissue beyond its capacity and Castiel gave her another fresh tissue. He gently squeezed her arm and gave the girl time to cry.

She sniffed after three more tissues and locked her eyes to his. "I went to see Austin. I trusted him. I told him I had to hide in the forest, maybe stay the night. I could not be with my mother anymore. So he and Penny took their jackets and sandwiches and we left the camp for a long trail leading to a stream. There's a little cave across the stream and we stayed there. Um, we later heard screams came from the campground I think around sunset." Minerva drew a shuddering breath. "It- the screams-were awful. Penny wanted to return to her mom, but Austin and I didn't think it was safe. I was afraid my mother might be doing horrible things."

"Is that what you thought happened? That your mother was fighting with the neighbors? How so?"

Minerva lifted her chin and dropped her head right, toward the door. Her teary eyes filled with agonizing memories. Her shoulders quivered. She swallowed words.

Castiel faced the mirror. "I think she needs water," he suggested. The angel laid his hand on hers and he shivered. Had anyone been able to see Cass' wings, they would have witnessed a beautiful sight as they flared out, bright and rigid. Castiel blinked and shock forced a winkle between his brows. Disconcerted, Castiel opened his mouth to say something but he caught himself. He had no idea what just transpired, but Cass bat his eyes and slowly withdrew. He regained his composure. "We can stop if you wish, Minerva."

As if nothing happened, Minerva lolled her head left and laid gentle brown eyes on the angel. "My dad knew Mom was drinking; it was a source of contention. She hit him... she doesn't think I know but I saw it." Her voice died as Sheriff Lightwater entered the room with ice water, a box of tissues and a little trash can.

Lightwater offered a weak smile. "Maybe we should take a break, Sweetheart," he lightly suggested.

The girl rolled her head right. Her wet, weary eyes held him a long moment. "We don't have time for a break, Sheriff. The moon is almost full." With that the girl took a deep breath, drank half the glass and turned her hand so that she squeezed Castiel's. She smiled as Lightwater left the room. "I'm glad you have someone here to protect you, Castiel. Is his name Sam?"

Castiel, caught off guard, hesitated. "Dean," he answered in quiet tones.

"But you know someone named Sam."

"His brother. How did you-" Cass interrupted his own question, "what makes you think-"

Again the girl smiled. But rather than the quick, naive up-turned face of a child, Minerva beamed an old, slow smile. She knew far more than her young mind dared divulge to the audience behind the one-way mirror. "My grandmother once mentioned that I had an old soul. Naturally, she is correct. Older than anyone here, Castiel. Older than you." she paused and pursed her lips. "But I am little here and I have to adhere by the rules of this world, this life and this body. Sometimes I make mistakes. I can't help it. It's difficult to be eleven years old."

The girl did not squirm under Castiel's confused and mortified expression. She sipped more water and drew a deep, wistful breath. "I think at one point Mom called for me after Austin, Penny and me ran into the woods. We stayed quiet because I was afraid what she might do. She was so drunk. Then it became very quiet."

Castiel interjected her narrative, "were you at all aware what was going on?"

She hesitated. Her eyes focused on no particular point. "I... somehow knew Mom visited Austin's cabin. She talked to them-to his parents. I envisioned her stumbling to Cabin Number Seven. I think she fell once. The people in Cabin Seven told her to go back to her own cabin or they were going to call a ranger. There was a fight. She slapped Mrs. Fordson." Minerva shook her head. "That's as far as my vision went. But later we heard other things like wood breaking and screaming. That was the scariest. Penny cried and we tried to keep her quiet."

Castiel waited while the girl's eyes froze with renewed trauma. He leaned slightly toward her. "Minerva, after all the screaming stopped and you heard no more noise, what happened? What did you and Austin and his sister do?"

She drew a shuddering breath. "We stayed there all night, fell asleep. We thought it was safer."

"So what happened when you got up in the morning?"

"Penny had to pee but wouldn't go out by herself. So her and me traveled down the stream. When we returned, Austin suggested we go back to camp. It stayed quiet long enough so we thought it might be okay to go back."

Castiel nodded. "Did you walk around the camp, or did you go through it?"

"We went through it. Mister Hardian warned us earlier there was poison ivy in the bushes." Minerva fell silent again and just as Castiel chose to stop the interrogation, she drew another deep breath. "The place was awful. Everything was broken. We saw a strange staff by the fire pit. There was blood everywhere and someone wrote my name on one or more of the cabin doors. I don't know why."

"Did you hear or see anything else, Minerva?" Castiel pressed. "Perhaps something out of the ordinary?"

She slowly dragged her gaze into his and all the girl's vulnerability lay like a gaping, infected wound in her eyes. "We saw a monster. It was there and then gone. It walked oddly and moved fast."

"Do you remember what it looked like?"

"Blue. Gold. Old, like something that's been here for a long, long time. Not old like wrinkly. Like something from the movies." she paused. "Know what I think?" Minerva watched Castiel blink. "I think when Mom killed my kittens, she smeared their blood on some of the cabins. I think she made the monster angry." she swallowed hard. "I think what she did to my kittens enraged something or someone and it killed her and everybody else."

"Do you think you're safe now, Minerva?"

She slowly shook her head. "I don't even think you're safe, Castiel. I don't know why. And I think... I know something else is after me."

Dean and DiNozzo made it back to the sheriff's office minus other incidents. DiNozzo planted himself behind a desk and keyed in a report regarding the blown sedan. Dean found Castiel at another empty desk, eyes afar with thought.

"Did you get into an altercation, Dean?" Cass asked, his voice as distant as his gaze.

Dean shrugged off his jacket and winced when movement tugged at untreated wounds. "Lost a round with Pan."

Cass' eyes narrowed and he tilted his head in puzzlement. "The satyr?" he deduced. "You saw it?"

"It saw me and Agent whatshisname-"

Tony shouted from across the room, "That's _Special Agent Whatshisname DiNozzo_, Mister Winchester!"

Dean grinned, guilty as charged.

Castiel studied Sam's brother with as much a brooding expression as Sam himself might use. "Dean," the angel said with a quiet voice, "Special Agent Gibbs has not returned from Billings as yet. I suggest we return to the motel and get some rest."

Dean scratched an itch behind his head and grimaced when his nails picked out several grains of sand. "Yeah. Good idea, Cass. I'll order something to eat."

The motel room invited Dean and Castiel with the promise of a quieter night. Dean showered off the day's events and cleaned out his wounds. He tossed his bloodied and torn shirt in the nearby trash and flopped on his bed. He picked up the phone to order dinner and realized Castiel hadn't said half a word since they closed the room door. Winchester dragged his weary eyes to the angel, sighed and hung up the phone.

"Hey." No response. "Cass," he called. "You okay?"

"If you are asking if I am well, yes. I am fine, Dean. Thank you."

Dean stared until he decided to rephrase the question. "What's eating you, Cass? What's nagging your noggin?"

"Nothing seems to... add up. The perpetrator's behavior at Bitter Root is different than it is here in Darby. The person or monster that murdered the campers does not seem to be the same thing as who or whatever is abducting children here in town."

"It's not."

"How can you be sure?"

Dean lay back on his pillow. He considered finding the town bar and mixing with the locals but his body demanded rest. "Cuz it can't be in two places at once."

"You did not say anything to Sheriff Lightwater, Dean."

"Yeah. I know. One thing at a time, Cass. I need sleep and food, first." Dean turned on the TV for background noise and called in their order. He plummeted to sleep in ten minutes, not even aware Castiel shut the lights out for him and laid his own comforter over Sam's brother. Cass watched TV until he too fell asleep.

_Two dispatchers covered the late night shift at the police station. They split a Hawaiian pizza, two games of rugby and car ownership horror stories._

_Travis Wells, the younger of the two, halted the conversation when his ears picked up the slightest, out-of-place sound. Both men held their breath, waiting to hear it again. _

_Another faint noise alerted them to a break in. Wells packed a flash light and investigated while Obourn alerted the sheriff._

_Ten minutes turned to fifteen as Obourn waited to hear from Wells. No sight, no sound. Obourn left his station. He called Wells' name as loudly as he dared, uncertain. The police station, usually inactive, dark but safe at night, now enveloped Oborn with a sense of dread; the unknown filled his veins with trepidation. _

_Two shots: BAAM, BAAM! "Wells!" Obourn called. "Wells!" He tapped upstairs and left toward the evidence locker. The overhead light swung back and forth, flooding one side of the hall and shadowed the other; back and forth, light, dark. _

_Wells' crippled form sprawled along the floor while blood soaked his clothes and stained the tiles. The door at his feet yawned open, the handle drilled off. _

_One bloody boot print offered the tell-tale sign of an intruder._

_Sheriff Lightwater arrived, called an ambulance then called the NCIS team._

Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes. His watch ticked at two-fifteen A.M. He slept through dinner's arrival but one glance at the nearby dresser assured him Castiel took care of the take out.

Speaking of Castiel, the angel slept quietly on the other bed while the TV played 'snake oil' infomercial testimonials. Dean briefly wondered if angels dreamed. Not that angels slept. But if Castiel ever dreamed, he never mentioned it.

Dean thought about the take out and decided he needed something more than cold Chinese and soda. He certainly wasn't going to drop back to sleep. And although he wanted to call Sam, Dean chose to wait for a more civilized time. He scribbled off a note for Cass, left it on the bed and picked up his jacket.

Hog's Town Bar and Grill welcomed Dean with an array of scents from hard liqueur to roasted and barbecued ribs. Dean's innards pre-ordered everything on the menu. He claimed a seat at the bar, glanced at the menu then tossed a light nod to the nearest waitress.

The older woman eyed him approvingly and whipped out her pad and pen. "What's there for you, Handsome?"

"Ribs off the bar-B, please. Fries. Whiskey." she winked at him and turned to another guy two chairs to Dean's right.

"And you, sir?"

"Angel liver." the stranger declared, deliberately loud. "Deep fried. With a side of ranch dressing." Dean turned to the other customer with disgust. The tall, wiry guy guzzled a bottle of Sink the Bismark. "I'll bet you know what it's like to have something of yours taken and then used against you, don't you?"

The freak stood taller than Sam and although the man wore a human appearance, Dean recognized 'non-human' when he saw it. He studied Mister Tall-And-Creepy, taking note the slightly pointed ears, the upturned nose and unruly hair. The thin creature held his empty beer bottle aloft. "Another, if you please," he requested.

The barmaid opened a fresh one and handed it to him. Just as she turned, he grabbed her wrist and smiled lewdly when she gave him a warning look. "I know you're looking for a good time after you get off work, Precious."

She yanked her hand away. "I'm AT WORK, asshole! Save it for the street girls." She huffed off and disappeared into the kitchen.

Dean shrugged and welcomed his dinner and whiskey when the other waitress appeared. She teased him with a wink before slipping away.

A hand slapped Dean on the arm and he faced the weirdo; up front, personal and far too close. "Hey," the non-human blinked a set of light brown eyes. "You never answered my question."

Just to be rude, Dean started cutting into his ribs. "Really? What was the question?"

"Have you ever had something taken from you then used against you?" Dean chewed his food, drank his whiskey and tried to keep a mask on his face. But he thought of Sam, lured by Hell to drink demon blood.

The 'person' nodded. "You have, haven't you? I see it in your eyes."

"Know what?" Dean came back, "I'm gonna sit here, eat my dinner and ignore you at the same time. Ingenious, huh?"

It smirked and gulped its beer. "You afraid of me?"

Dean kept his cool by evaluating the thing beside him. "Might ask yourself that same question-and piss off while you're at it."

"Ooh, hostile!"

Dean froze and iced his gaze on the non-human. It was a look that made demons wither; a look he used on Sam maybe twice.

Message received. The monster turned away, unfazed.

A crunch-scrape sound woke Castiel from the peaceful dark of sleep. He sat up, ignored the TV, and searched the other bed.

No Dean.

Now Castiel understood why Sam used to get so annoyed with his brother stepping out. The angel could not say exactly why it left him uneasy. After all, Dean was an adult and able to take care of himself. But considering there were people, entities and law enforcement institutions who held Dean at the top of their dead-or-alive lists, Castiel did not think it wise for Dean to slip out whenever, wherever he wished.

The angel heard another crunch-scrape like heavy wood dragging along old blacktop. He pointed at the TV. The appliance turned off and the room fell dead-still. Cass listened with his entire body. The tiniest strands of music reached his ears. But it was not what made him leery. Silently the angel set an ear and hand to the door. He waited, straining for a heartbeat, the intake of breath or the pop of a joint.

The only sound Castiel distinguished came as a soft swish in the grass; a swish out of place because there was no wind. The angel covertly opened the door. He scanned for a physical presence before stepping out. The tall motel sign glared from his right. Parking lot lights shed off-white along the ground. They did not illuminate the grass areas or the empty parking lot next door.

Certain he sensed and heard something, Cass stepped out and left the door open just enough. He touched down on the parking lot and scanned three-sixty. His blue eyes marked everything with perfect memory. But nothing appeared disarranged. Castiel quietly treaded past the Impala, past a black Ford 150 and an unkept PT Cruiser. He rounded the corner and examined the world cast in pre-dawn shadows.

Nothing. No indication of stranger or foreign entity. Cass turned and the misshapen visage of a goat stared him square in the face. It snorted, frozen in the moment. It glared at Castiel with six eyes. Long fangs rested over its lower lip and two sets of horns topped his head.

The creature opened its mouth and released a poisonous breath before it lashed out and sent Castiel crashing along the street several yards away.

43


	6. Factor of X

Chain Reaction: Chapter 5

Factor of X

Castiel leapt to his feet as the creature lumbered toward him. Its hooves cracked the ground under its body's compacted mass. Smoke trailed from its nose then flared red when the beast snorted.

Cass steadied his eyes on the monster and wiped blood from the corner of his lip. An aura of energy radiated from the monster; corrupted and unbalanced. Yet the angel sensed something familiar about the signature, the energy's frequency and range... as though it were of his own Grace.

The horned beast produced a flaming whip with a split tongue. The asphalt hissed under its molten heat. With a flick of the wrist, the monster snapped the whip to intimidate the angel. When Castiel did not so much as blink, the monster charged; clomping hooves thundered the ground.

Cass gripped the monster's horns and twisted the beast round, flipping it on its back with a heavy crunch. The beast bellowed with a gravely voice. The whip caught Castiel about the ankles. He fell face-down and stifled a moan. Clawing the nearby grass, Castiel kicked with both feet, working hard to free himself.

The mythical creature loomed above him, gloating. Its left lip lifted in a partial smile. "_Ogchur-urnou org v'dalion, Castiel."_

The ground trembled, the air winded and all nearby trees dithered at the clamorous sound of Hellspeak. Castiel grimaced. But undaunted, he swung his captive feet up and planted them in the freak's crotch. The beast heaved so far forward that its large hooves lost traction. It tumbled toward the angel and Cass threw all his weight into the swing and kicked the dark beast to the right. As the thing slowly recovered, Castiel hastily unraveled the burning whip. It singed his fingers and hissed along the ground where he dumped it.

The very instant Castiel regained his footing, the beast rammed him again, crunching its horns into Cass' middle. They collided against the side of a new Grand Prix, crumpled the passenger door and burst the window. The car rocked hard with the impact and its security system screamed.

Castiel lost wind against the monster's brute force. A dull ache reminded the angel of his limited capacity. Although he wasn't human, he was still not invincible. He grit his teeth and feebly pushed against the creature's horns. The car's alarm blared unmercifully and the devilish thing sent another jolt of force against Cass' ribs.

A salty, coppery taste entered Cass' mouth while all air left his lungs. He smashed the backseat window and yanked out the largest shard his fingers found. With remaining strength, Castiel shoved the shard as far into the beast's left eye as he could in scant seconds.

The monster shot away. Its screams masked the car alarm while it staggered left and right. Its fingers scrabbled and pinched at the bloodied shard.

Castiel slumped to his knees, holding his middle. No air entered his lungs. He reminded himself of worse experiences and forced himself up, staggering a yard or further from the wailing car. He did not notice people pour from their rooms to witness the fight. His thoughts strayed toward Dean and how Dean expected him to be in their motel room, waiting... like Sam.

The freakish thing chose to deal with the pain and dispensed with all attempts to remove the shard. It growled once it spotted Castiel's whereabouts. It sprang toward the angel, racing like a rabid animal. Without breaking its stride, the monster swept up its fallen fiery whip.

At the accurate flick of a wrist, the whip lacerated the air and swept across Castiel like a rake of acid.

A shotgun thundered in the air. The car stopped squalling. Several voices clamored in alarm. They faded and Castiel remembered nothing more.

Dean fell asleep amid the clatter and chatter in the sterile hospital hallway. Sixteen grueling hours of wearisome waiting and his angelic friend still floated somewhere in la-la land.

Whatever attacked Castiel had to be seriously juiced. Eyewitness accounts ranged from a 'red werewolf' to 'the devil did it'. What bothered Dean was the depiction of horns and hooves. Were they dealing with a Minotaur, too? Dean fought the urge to sleep more. The stiff chair left him tired and sore. While he kept vigil over Castiel, Dean manipulated the hospital phone lines on his cell phone and sneaked a line to the outside world to contact Sam.

Naturally Sammy gently teased him about hijacking computer signals-something Dean learned from him.

"Does that make me an airwave pirate?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam hesitated then answered: "_Only if you didn't succeed accidently, Dean_." Dean smiled in spite of his exhaustion. "_Get yourself some sleep, man_," Sam chided. _"I can hear your brain shutting down all the way over here._"

"Nah. Too wired. 'Sides, I wanna chew Cass out for picking a fight." Dean stared out the window into a glaring afternoon sky. Earlier, paramedics repeatedly expressed their shock that Castiel had not died. The whip wound railed through his clothes, down his right cheek and along his neck. It sliced the angel down to the bone. Cass' shattered ribs should have left him fatally wounded. Yet by the time they reached the hospital, Cass' deepest wounds were closing on their own. His broken ribs miraculously pulled themselves together so that only fractures lined the bones. He still ended on the operating table where doctors removed glass fragments from his muscle tissue and stitched his skin.

Dean never thought his friend's abilities to self-heal had limitations. Cass lay quiet, stilled from exhaustion. Sam's brother sighed into the phone. "I think Castiel's gonna be okay. It's just... you think some people are invulnerable and when you find they're not... it's scary."

"_Do you need me to come out there?_" Sam offered.

"No!" Dean blinked and silently reprimanded himself for allowing fear to reach his voice. "No, Sam. We'll be okay. Just... stay put. Please."

Castiel's gruff voice moaned from the bed. "...'zat Sam?" he asked.

Dean turned with a chipper smile. "Yeah," he answered the angel. "Hey, Sam, good thing you're not here, man. Castiel looks like he got run over by a freight train from Hell."

At the other end of the phone line, Sam batted his eyes and wrinkled his brow, disconcerted by that analogy. But he smiled when Castiel told Dean to shut up and let him speak to his brother.

Castiel cupped Dean's cell phone to his ear and momentarily wondered how Dean managed to get cell phone reception in a hospital. Winchester magic, he told himself. "Sam?" he did not mask the weariness in his voice.

"_Hey, Cass_."

The angel heard the smile in Sammy's voice. He closed his eyes. "Sam, Dean is doing just fine. I will be fine. Stop worrying. I need you to look up something for me, but you'll need to get it from some very old books that may not be in Bobby's library." He heard Sam rustle with a pen and a piece of paper. "Ready?"

"_Yeah. Hit me."_

"It's called 'Tempest Light' written by a thirteenth century monk named Oxton of Four Elms. You need to contact a museum curator named Jane Bucannon from Edenbridge. Tell her I asked for a copy of the book. Just give her Bobby's address. It should be there in two days."

"_Okay. What am I looking for, Cass?"_

"Satyrs of the Dark Ages, Sam. More importantly, look for the name 'Camarious." Castiel heard Sheriff Lightwater's footsteps outside their door. "We'll talk later Sam," he said quickly. Castiel shut the phone and handed it to Dean as Lightwater crossed the threshold.

"Hey," Dean pushed himself out the stiff chair and retrieved his phone via sleight of hand.

Lightwater's gaze bounced from Dean to Castiel and back. "We caught the lunatic with the shotgun," he announced, "the shotgun that ended the street fight?"

"Okay."

"And that same lunatic is askin' for you."

Dean's leery eyes drifted to Castiel; reluctance darkened his expression. The angel sent his reassurance in the form of a light smile. "I am not likely to die here, Dean."

"Your friend's not going anywhere," Lightwater added. "We need to get to the bottom of this and fast. We lost two more people last night."

Dean consented with a single nod. "Don't go anywhere, Cass," he joked half-heartedly. "I'll be back."

Lightwater and Dean entered a small busy police department, filled with volunteers, staff and NCIS. Dean tossed a casual glance and a partial smile at Agent Gibbs. The agent's solid eyes did not so much as twitch, nor did they fall from Dean once Lightwater led him down the hall.

Gibbs snapped his fingers twice. Agent DiNozzo scampered off the desk, folders and notes in hand. He stuffed a pen in his pocket and shadowed his boss.

Dean entered the stale interrogation room and stopped breathing when he encountered the hunter, Alex Stepford. Rage burned him from the inside out. Dean wanted to stretch the arrogant SOB on the Rack and dance to Stepford's unending screams. He'd peel the skin back one layer at a time. He'd carefully open Stepford's skull and make him watch as Dean fed his brains to a demon underling.

Dean's heart fluttered, his lips trembled and he spoke with a carefully controlled voice. "I don't think this is a good idea," he said to Lightwater. "I'm likely to rip this sonofabitch apart with my teeth."

The grungy hunter smiled at his younger peer. A leering gloat shined from Stepford's eyes. "Looky what they got themselves here! Johnny Winchester's boy! How ya doin' Dean? Still playing rummy with Hell?"

Dean visibly trembled and the sheriff forcefully gripped his upper arm. "Hey," he growled, "whatever is between the two of you will have to wait. He's the scumbag who broke into a house, threatened a woman and her daughter. He wanted to talk to _you_, so talk."

Stepford wiggled his nose like a rabbit. "That's right, Winchester. Just like ol' times. Just like the micro-conversation we had in Green Bay. You remember Green Bay, don't you? Before the dragons destroyed it?"

"Shut up." Dean snapped.

The sheriff snorted. "You gonna handle this? Cuz if you can't, I'll just pass him on to NCIS."

"No, I got this," Dean replied with a more controlled voice. In spite of his rage, he was just as curious about Alex's visit to Darby. Perhaps he had information about the satyr. Strapping on his ingrained self-discipline, Dean entered the room.

Stepford stared straight at the one-way mirror. "I recently caught myself a little 'tattle-tale.' That demon was walking the planet in the skin of some college boy who took one drag too many. He tells me nobody's finished with you and Sammy. They just need to find another weak link. Your angel crony, for example."

"What the hell are you doing here, Stepford?" Dean immediately asked, "You owe me piecemeal for my wife." Dean drilled murderous eyes into the hunter.

Alex shrugged. "Y'know... I was at Bob Singer's place couple weeks ago." He tried to read past Dean's wall of anger, searching for a nervous twitch but found none. Stepford sat forward and popped his neck. "I gotta hand it to yer kid brother; he knows his stuff. Half the sigils outside the yard weren't ol' Bobby's scribbles after all." Alex paused. "By the way, Dean, where did Sammy find out about wards against unwanted strangers? And I'm not talking about the hellbound sort; I'm talking real flesh-and-blood people. You don't find that kinda shit here on Earth."

Dean smiled darkly and took the chair opposite of Alex. "You'll have a MUCH easier time getting the devil to cry over your love life, Stepford, than getting me to divulge Demon Know-How for Dummies. Now, if you don't have anything more, I'll slip out. Cuz all I want to do is rip you limb from limb." Dean left the chair and took three steps before Alex spoke.

"I got the Thyrsos. Just won't say where."

Dean hesitated then stared at the scum out the corner of his eye. "You gotta punch line in there somewhere?"

"I came here 'cuz I heard there was an ocu in town." Dean turned, carefully masking his surprise. Alex didn't need to read his peer's expression. He grinned at his hands. "By the way, fancy meeting you here, Winchester. Glad to see you're still in the loop. I gotta say, though, that I was a little unprepared for the other monster. That's what _you're_ here for, isn't it? My fault. I haven't seen the news."

"What other monster?" Dean kept his voice hard, securing all doubts, surprises and possible fears. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I came here for the boogeyman."

Dean lost his neutral expression and cast his eyes at the one-way window. Finally, he drew the other chair away from the table, sat in it and crossed one leg over his knee. He tipped the chair on its back legs and stayed stubbornly silent.

That same silence annoyed their audience in the next room. Just when Gibbs reached for the door, Stepford opened his mouth:

"Did you know some angels an' demons are still trying to reset the apocalypse button? You're still on their list, Dean. You probably will be for the rest of your life." He waited for a reaction but Dean merely rocked on the wooden chair's back legs; eyes focused, hard with anger. Realizing his psychological tactics were getting nowhere, Alex's eyes wandered to the right upper corner of the room. "It was Red Bluff, California." he said, "'Bout four months ago. The owner of a cash advance place just lost two of his kids. Gone. The only clue was an opened window. Nobody thinks of things like that. They think the kids ran away or maybe mommy and daddy got into a fight and took their faves with them to the next county or state over. Big custody battle.'

'But then some preacher lost his daughter. Same thing; no traces. A hair dresser lost her son. The card shop owner lost a niece. Like some sort of goddam pied piper hit the town. Some old lady lost her two year-old granddaughter. A phantom in the night. The head housekeeper of a local motel lost her favorite son. She ran through the streets, screaming bloody murder. Had to be arrested and taken to the funny farm on suicide watch. Are you getting any of this, Winchester?"

"The boogeyman is a myth, Stepford."

"If that's the case, then please tell me how is it that so many cultures have descriptions of the very same thing? Different names, different times, but very similar descriptions. It's called the Sackman-ringing any bells in that void between the ears there, Winchester? Don't tell me you haven't found bits of string at the abduction sites. Don't tell me that analysis of the string isn't something old, made of hemp. Or how about the same stuff with whale oil on it? No? Weird."

"The _staff_, Stepford. Where did you hide it?"

Alex lolled his head one direction then another, his eyes traced the ceiling as though it hurt to let a thought through. "I met this interesting fellow who also asked about the Thyrsos. So I'll tell you what I told him; it's for sale."

Dean smirked. "Oh, you're funny. Just when I thought you couldn't possibly be any dumber, you go and do something like this... and totally redeem yourself." He watched Stepford's expression swing between confusion and disgust. Dean could not tell if Stepford had even seen _Dumb and Dumber_. Dean's features widened with a grin. "How about I set up a date between you and the satyr? I'm sure he'd love to discuss prices with you." He waited a beat then shook his head. "No?" he said to mock Stepford's earlier remark. "Huh. Well, I won't make the same offer twice; I wouldn't even be this generous to my brother."

Dean swiped his finger in the air. "You know, Alex, come to think on it, I wouldn't forward the same offer to my brother; Sam's a little more Einstein to your Sponge Bob. So, option Number Two: tell me where the Thyrsos is and I'll stop making fun of you and promise not to kill you any slower than over a seven-day period."

"It's for _sale_, Winchester."

Dean practically jumped to his feet. He pasted on another smile. "Okay!" he declared, "Well, credits are rolling here. There's another guy who wants to talk with you-oh, F.Y.I.: he doesn't have my good sense of humor. Thanks for the chat." He left the room as Agent Gibbs walked in, face solid, eyes frozen by lack of amusement.

Sitting with his boss in the observation room, Tony DiNozzo grinned wide and cackled a time or two. "Hey, this guy's good."

Gibbs glared. "They're talking fairy tales, DiNozzo."

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, I get that boss. But what I saw at the campground wasn't exactly something out of an episode of _Wild Kingdom._" He ignored the intensified glare the boss shot his way. Tony, however, blinked at his own statement. He once believed in the boogeyman as a kid; information he never divulged to his father. After seeing the satyr himself and what it did to the rented sedan, Tony wasn't going to validate his boss' firm hold on the standards of normalcy and reality.

When Stepford mentioned the hemp fibers and whale oil, Gibbs took Tony's file and flipped through it. He reread Abby's report and thumbed through four photos. "I want reports from the Red Bluff abductions, DiNozzo."

"On it, Boss."

"And get me more information on this wannabe clown." Gibbs exited the room as Dean opened the door. They exchanged emotionless glances before Dean aimed for the main office and Gibbs took his turn with the suspect. He smacked the table with the manila folder and sat in Dean's chair.

Stepford's eyes held Gibbs in mockery. "Oooh, goody. Round two."

Gibbs stayed frosty. "We had an entire camp of marines and their families slaughtered. After that, three investigators lost their lives apparently to the same perpetrator. Now we have a town in crisis, children are missing and all you can do is feed us fairy tales!" he whacked the table with the flat of his hand. "I want answers!"

"No you don't," Alex Stepford replied smoothly. "You want a solid, realistic, normal resolution. You want something that's human and reasonable. You want fingerprints and bloody crime scenes. You want lint and hair, flakes of paint or a booger sample. Well, you're not going to get it, Agent Gibbs. I'm sorry. The world sucks for you right now because all the government's scientists and all the government's lackeys can't solve this mystery. It's outside of science. It's outside the norm. The Twighlight Zone exists. It's real. It's out there. And it's here in this town. You want answers? Open your narrow-minded icebox, _Agent Giblets_. What you don't know, or choose to ignore will kill you."

Gibbs had no reply. The idea that the case involved something outside his experience unnerved the agent. The idea of the reality of the supernatural came to him as intangible as a conspiracy theory. Gibbs relied on the solidity of the world; those things he could see, touch, taste and hear. He needed faces with names, facts and backgrounds. And for all the work his team committed themselves to and the accumulated deaths, the only tangible thing Gibbs had to grasp was the stories and theories of two wack-jobs: Dean Winchester and Alex Stepford. Neither of which he either liked or trusted.

At least the two wack-jobs were not buddies.

Gibbs decided to work from that angle: "So what's the story with you and Winchester?"

While Gibbs and his sidekick, DiNozzo grilled Stepford, Dean left the office before his lust for vengeance conquered his better sensibilities. Leaving a note with Maggie, Dean hiked across town toward the motel. He thought about visiting Cass again but nursing a festering anger sounded more inviting than nursing an injured angel.

Lisa haunted his thoughts and an old wound seeped from his heart. He missed her. Dean missed her smile, the way she laughed so clear, so free of fear. He missed Ben and that, too, was a wound that failed to heal. But he chose. He chose Sam and Castiel and damn that it burned how he could not have all of them. Why did life always force him to choose between people he loved? Dean well and truly hoped it might be possible to have Sam live with him and Lisa. He almost had it all figured out, too.

As Dean approached the motel, he glanced across the street and spotted the same slim freak he met at the bar. Said freak grinned back at him with an unnatural light in his face. He produced a short wooden pipe then pointed excitedly at the street lights at the next corner.

Dean diverted his eyes in that direction and watched as traffic progressed east to west under a green light. The freak across the way squealed a single note. The red light that held northbound/southbound traffic flipped green. In an instant, four cars crashed in a T-bone formation. Several fender-benders followed and all that begat commotion, panic and confusion.

Dean blinked back to the freak and wished he had the Glock. No such luck. Even if he had a gun on him, the freak with the flute vanished behind the nearest tree. Dean narrowed his eyes with a silent vow.

He lingered, wary and watchful for seven minutes when city help arrived to untangle the mess made by the monster. That had to be the satyr. _Had to be_.

At first Dean thought returning the Thyrsos might pacify the monster and send it away. But considering the brutal attack on Castiel the night before, Dean didn't count that a factor anymore. More than that, he firmly believed the freak he met at the bar was the satyr, not the beast that landed Castiel on the operating table. Maybe Castiel's assailant was the ocu Stepford talked about. It was rare that he faced two monsters in the same place.

Wait. Didn't Stepford interchangeably use the word 'ocu' and 'boogeyman'?

Too tired to deal with it all, Dean turned to the motel for a few hours' rest.

_Filthy brown clouds blotted a blood-red sky_. Screams filled the air in a cacophony of agony. Endless cries for mercy mingled with pre-wailing grunts as blade and flame tormented the damned. A freakish figure in a withered grey skin, hollowed-out eyes and a gaping mouth loomed over Dean. Skeletal hands raked over his face; razors along the surface of his soul.

"_Dean Winchester. Torture or be tortured today?"_

"WHAT!?" Dean snapped up from sleep. He gasped for air until his mind registered the quiet around him. He panted a moment longer, his heart slowed. He swallowed hard and wiped sweat from the side of his face.

Sam. Sam. Dean instantly grabbed his phone and hit Sam's number. "_Please, please,_" he inwardly begged. "_I just want to hear... I just need to hear..."_

"_Hey, Dean_,"

Dean closed his eyes to the sound of Sam's soft tenner voice. He swallowed the panic with a dry mouth. "Hey, Sammy," his voice etched the air with the grit of sleep.

A long pause drifted between them before Sam softly spoke again. "_I'm okay_."

"I-I know that you are," Dean glanced at the window concealed by an ugly green mottled curtain. "...that, um, that I don't have to worry... you know?" Sam did not answer right away and Dean wondered if he were still dreaming and that the dream may change any second.

"_You have a multitude of reasons to worry_," Sam finally said.

Dean's countenance twisted with puzzlement. "Why's that, Sammy? Is there something wrong?" Again the quiet hung between them, spanning the 1,073 miles between Darby and Sioux Falls. "Sammy?"

"_You have so much responsibility, Dean,_" Sam finally said. "_You take care of me and you look after Cass and Bobby and you take on the world_..._ it scares me to think how it affects you."_

Dean shuddered as fragments of his nightmare faded, chased away by Sam's soft voice like cobwebs dissolving under a gentle autumn mist. He settled against the headboard. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Sammy. I still dream, you know, of That Place. I hear the screams and I feel... " his voice failed him. Who was he to complain? He had no room to whine like a little girl when his brother lost his sanity to far worse conditions. Still, Dean found it small comfort when his memories of hell clung to his soul like clothing burned to his skin. "I'm sorry, Sam," he whispered.

"_Oh, stop, Dean_," Sam chided. _"No one said you weren't allowed to be Human. And the day you aren't, you're either insane like me or dead. You just... I wish you'd just cut yourself some slack. You know? It is what it is and the day it stops affecting you, you should be worried. It's Hell, Dean, not some trip through Disneyland or someone's crappy birthday party."_

Dean softly smirked and wondered how his brother knew. Dean did not have to mention anything other than a nightmare and Sam knew. Maybe he should not be so surprised; maybe it wasn't so much surprise as relief knowing that Sam knew him well enough to guess why he called. He lightly smiled. "Hey, Sammy," he said at length, "what are you up to?"

Sam hesitated before answering. "_Sitting in the closet._" his voice carried the sound of shame. "_It's dark and quiet and I'm waiting for a book to come in the mail._"

Dean swallowed again. "But you're okay?" and again, Sam did not answer immediately.

"_I am not okay, Dean_," he returned with a flat sound. "_I am safe and I am here and I am not alone. But I am not okay._"

Dean nodded as guilt crept over his heart. "Are... are you mad?"

"_No_," Sam's voice came lighter, now. _"No, Dean. You needed something to do. You know? Birds fly, fish swim and Dean hunts. It's the way of things. Just... just promise you and Cass will come home okay. Okay?_"

"Yeah. I promise. I promise." Dean's guilt ebbed and strength replaced the holes left in his heart by dream-memories of hell.

"_I'm going to sleep, now,_" Sam declared. _"And I will wait by the phone._"

Dean almost couldn't say it: "okay. Sleep good, Sammy." The brothers hung up simultaneously. Sam slept. Dean felt better. He took a quick shower and headed back to the sheriff's office.

Dean took a detour to the office and grabbed a bag of grease and salt with a large coffee to wash it down. As he crossed the street under a lazy green light, Dean promised himself he'd make Sam pancakes the moment he and Cass returned home. Maybe he'd even try out a new recipe.

Dean tucked that thought away as he entered the sheriff's office. The stale smell of paper and coffee reminded him of his own trips to mental health. Agent McGee greeted Dean with a nod as Dean found himself an empty cubicle and settled with his coffee and food. He munched for ten minutes while Maggie answered two and three calls then dispatched them between the ambulance, fire and rescue and patrol.

All that for someone who nearly drowned in their own pool.

Dean finished his fries and wadded up the paper bag with a one-third uneaten sandwich still intact. He wondered if age was creeping up on his metabolism or if one year off the road has made his stomach less interested in grease. He sipped the remainder of his coffee with ease when the front door opened and McGee stepped to greet the visitor.

"I have come to speak with _Imadradas_."

Dean's eyes shot up as Special Agent McGee rose to greet the same Native American Dean and DiNozzo spotted on the crosswalk the other day. McGee tugged on a polite smile. "I'm sorry, sir. There's no one here by that name. How about I just take a message for you and give it to the sheriff?"

But the elderly gentleman already caught Dean's eyes and smiled at him. Dean rounded the cubicle and approached with a sheepish smile. He ignored Tim's confused brow line. "Hi," he proffered a hand in greeting. "I'm Dean Winchester."

"Imadradas?" a friendly smile swept over the guy's aged face.

"Yes."

"I am Shaman Clouded Moon from the reservation. I am come to offer a cleansing ritual." Concern and weariness dragged Clouded Moon's baritone voice.

Tim bounced his gaze between the older Native and the tall imposing hunter. "I'm Special Agent McGee. If you're asking about the campground, I'll have to tell you that it's considered a crime scene and can't be disturbed." He tried to look confident when the shaman stared at him with wizened eyes.

"If I do not cleanse the land, the evil thereon will fester and grow until it consumes all the land and the people on it."

McGee fidgeted with uncertainty. "Well, I'll have to clear that with my boss. You'll have to ask him permission... he's uh, he's still in interrogation." The little man shrank slightly under the stares. "I'll, um, I'll go see if he's almost done."

Dean's hard eyes did not change but he nodded in agreement. He respectfully turned to Clouded Moon. "Can I get you a soda?"

They took up a corner while another officer occupied Tony's desk. Dean purchased two Sprites from the soda machine in the hall and handed Clouded Moon the first one. He settled in a chair while his eyes wandered around the room, gauging the general mood and where all exits, weapons and hiding places lay. He did not see the shaman smile with the first sip of his drink.

"You can take the wolf out of the hunt. But the hunt will always remain in the wolf."

Dean cast his eyes on the floor with a light smile. "I guess... I'm a little jittery." He paused before meeting Moon's aged visage. "How did you know me? How did you know-"

"The Earth speaks, Dean Winchester. It speaks of you and your brother. You walk not as other men. You are the light that dims the shadow on a world gone cold."

Dean shook his head. The world was cold because of him and Sam. "It should not have happened at all," he said, speaking of the apocalypse. "Look at what happened because of our stupidity."

"You confuse choice with prophesy. You take on responsibility not entirely yours. The worlds above and below collided because it was _time_ for them to do so, Imadradas."

Dean said nothing when his gaze settled on Gibbs as the NCIS agent emerged from interrogation and gave orders to his underlings. "He lives such a normal life. He never has to face magic or demons. He couldn't tell the difference between Latin and Greek."

"Your world can never be his, Dean," Clouded Moon kept his voice calm, peaceful. "There are different types and levels of evil in the world. One is no less real than another. You carry a burden and a power he could never imagine. His world is above. It is of trees and meadows, of lakes and hills, of forest and city. It depends upon the light you carry into the dark places where things lurk to devour the hearts of the innocent and the temptable. Without you, his world could never be safe."

Clouded Moon read acceptance in Dean's otherwise stoic face. "It is good to see the days of your youthful skepticism faded, Dean Winchester. You are strong. The anger and sorrow you carried has also dimmed with the passing of time."

Dean dragged his eyes off the NCIS agents back to the shaman. He realized Clouded Moon spoke of his time in Hell and of his time alone in the world without Sam. "I got my brother back," he said simply.

Clouded Moon held up a finger and reached into a pocket inside his tunic. "If you'll forgive an old man's scattered mind, I brought something for you."

Dean's expression turned to kindness. "You don't have to give me anything, Clouded Moon." His brows furrowed when the shaman held aloft a charm of polished silver and green tourmaline. A lightning bolt lay over a rearing, winged serpent inside a circle. The lightning sizzled green, matching the serpent's eyes.

"This is for Kai-Ishako. The wounds in his soul may scar but they will not fade nor will the ache diminish until he leaves this world. This will ease the memories and remind him of hope and love."

Dean roped the necklace over his head. The minute the amulet touched his skin, his senses sharpened as though he had been asleep all this time and now awakened fresh and alert.

Clouded Moon held aloft a second necklace. A colorful dark crystal hung in the fashion of several boxes stacked one atop another. Dean knew Sam would be proud that he recognized bismuth. There was no mistaking the crystal's blocky formation or the rich colors it wore. The chain that bore it resembled a series of rings and clutching cat paws.

"This is for you," Clouded Moon said softly. "For the Grace-Life that cannot be fully restored because it was sealed with yours. Put it on and do not take it off." The shaman's old face creased with a proud smile. His dark eyes gleamed with an expression Dean could put no words to.

Gibbs blocked the sun from their corner and scanned both men with a face of stone. "Agent McGee tells me you want to go to the crime scene."

Clouded Moon returned Gibbs' stare with steady, unruffled eyes. "The seed of darkness planted on the grounds grows exponentially. If it is not plucked and burned, it will continue to grow. Even now, the same evil walks the streets of Darby and it will expand from here. As ice melts, the water spreads in all directions. So this evil will spread."

Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. All the magic mumbo-jumbo grated against his personal beliefs and upbringing. He cast a dark look to Winchester. "McGee is going with you. If you so much as move a dirt clod without permission, my agent has authorization to shoot."

Leaving the Impala at the police station, Dean and Clouded Moon suffered through Agent McGee's grandma driving skills. He stopped at yellow lights, allowed jay-walkers the right-of-way and waved at every bus driver and trucker they encountered.

Dean sat forward in the back seat and lapped his arms along the bench. "I got a question," He said to the shaman. "What's an important guy like you doing walking out in the middle of town all by yourself? You could have taken a taxi, hitched a ride or something."

Clouded Moon gazed at the hunter with discerning eyes and a smile wrinkled the edges of his face. "You think I walked all the way from the reservation, yes? That I am 'strong in the Force', yes?" Clouded Moon laughed quietly. "My sister's mother in-law lives here in town. She owns ten dogs, eight cats, four goats and three large black moors: Fido, Garfield and See Spot Swim. She comes to me for her weekly supply of bloodworms for the fish. I _allow_ her to take me around."

Dean lit up with laughter.

Agent McGee turned into the road leading to the campground. Chunks and scraps left from the blown sedan littered the ground like metallic rocks warning would-be trespassers.

"Stop here," Dean ordered. "I'd rather not endanger the car."

McGee craned his neck to examine the road before them. "Yeah, I can see why." He parked the car and packed his radio, gun and cell phone.

Dean double-checked his supply of salt, goofer dust, holy water, glock and cell phone. He slipped out before Clouded Moon and helped the shaman out the car. The old man smiled and gave Dean a warmth he had not felt since he was a child. He retrieved the shaman's walking stick and bag and walked beside him.

"You are in a good place, now, Imadradas," Clouded Moon declared as they neared the yellow tape. "The world is dark and riddled with uncertainty and creatures the likes of which has not been seen since the Dark Ages. You and your brother are not responsible for it. The apocalypse was supposed to happen but only under certain conditions. Those conditions, however, were altered as time passed."

Clouded Moon ducked under the tape and led Dean and McGee to the first cabin where he stood and stared. "Even the angels do not know the mind of God. They attest to His laws and bidding. They are shepherds of many worlds. But only Earth stands as the courtroom of good and evil." The shaman turned and stared as though looking straight into Dean's soul. "It is not that God has left. It is not that God has ceased to exist. The angels have gone _blind_, Dean. Arrogance blinds even the faithful. And they used their arrogance to instigate war." Clouded Moon produced a long green vial from his bag. He prayed over it then poured a milky-black liquid along the broken porch of the first cabin.

Dean and Clouded Moon moved to Cabin Number Two, leaving McGee behind. He stared at the dark liquid what-ever Clouded Moon poured over the wooden porch. To his surprise, the splashed contents glazed from black to glowing white. McGee swallowed air when human eyes opened on the white drops of fluid and blinked. The agent thought he heard a multitude of voices whispering from the multitude of eyes as they roved to and fro, up and back. Unsettled, he caught up with his companions but kept his mouth shut.

"I'm sorry," Dean objected, "but I can't swallow that. If there is a God, then why does all this happen? What's His problem? Why does He allow people to die, or children to suffer, or people to go hungry? Huh? You call _that_ God?"

"Evil must run its course. It must have its say." Clouded Moon paused before Cabin Number Two before scanning the entire campground. Dean partly watched him and partly followed his gaze. He tagged behind the shaman as the kind old man trailed toward the main fire pit. He passed a hand over the cold embers then lifted closed eyes toward the grey sky.

"Great anger treaded this ground. It spilled from one wound and infected everything around it." Clouded Moon tugged a small paper bag from his arsenal. He emptied the contents; whole bay leaves, basil flowers, nutmeg seed and crushed hematite. He liberally tossed the mix into the fire pit and scattered the remains along the bordering cement blocks. With a grease pencil he carefully rendered a simple sigil on one brick then another before handing the pencil to Dean. The shaman pointed to a brick between his sigils. "Here, Imadradas, inscribe your symbol."

Dean knew what Clouded Moon meant, but his brows creased in silent question. He waited a beat before verbalizing it. "Why mine? I'm not a... well, and neither is Sam."

The old man smiled before examining the bloodied hole left by the missing Thyrsos. "Because you have an angel for a brother, Dean. Because you and your Brother -and your brother-are more than you perceive."

Dean watched as the shaman crouched, gathered a handful of soil and scattered it to the wind. "What are we, if we are not Human?"

"You are the storm. When the land languishes in corruption and apathy, you are the storm that awakens the sleeping hearts. You are the fire that burns away the underbrush and exposes evil. There are many like you who are committed to unmask evil's deception. But none have been granted the power you wield."

Clouded Moon spotted Cabin Number Five and left Dean by himself. Dean mouthed "what power?" but decided he should already know the answer. With a light shrug, he drew the symbol representing himself and Sam as McGee caught up.

"How much longer is this going to take?" The agent swallowed hard as Dean stood to his full height. McGee dragged a forced smile across his face when he recalled Dean Winchester's file mentioned his brother stood even taller than he.

"Ha! _'Either you or your head must be off..._" Dean answered, quoting from Alice in Wonderland, "_Take your choice! _Otherwise, stop thinking so hard, Agent McGee. You'll damage something." He turned from the NCIS agent to catch up with Clouded Moon. But then Dean changed his mind in mid-movement and gazed over his shoulder. "By the way," he added, "keep in mind that the universe in general does not run on government clocks."

Gibbs hated to re-interrogate a suspect. But the new list of questions written for Alex Stepford had nothing to do with the current case. The police department from Cicero, Indiana got wind that NCIS caught themselves a person of interest regarding the murder of Ben Braden. Special Agent Gibbs took personal interest regarding scumb who remorselessly murder children. He entered the interrogation room, stripped his jacket and slammed the folder on the table. He frisbeed a total of ten photos taken of Lisa's house.

"Wanna tell me about these?" Gibbs' anger boiled just under the surface. He hoped for the scumbag's sake that Stepford knew nothing of the incident, just so Gibbs can intimidate the truth out of him.

Stepford casually glanced from one photo to another and protruded his lower lip. He stared at one picture of Dean's last name written across the wall in the boy's blood. "Looks like someone was trying to make a point."

"Your fingerprints are all over that place, Stepford."

Alex tried the staring game and lost. He smirked. "You people just don't get it."

"What," Gibbs snarled. "You gonna give me another lesson on your little fairy tale world?"

Stepford sat up and framed the photos with the sides of his hands. "Look, the world is not all black-and-white. It's not constructed of reality and fantasy. Where do you think mythology comes from, Agent Gibbs? Huh? There's no doubt that the little box you call reality is real enough. True that. But it's like seeing the moon at waxing crescent; you only have the barest slice of life. There's so much more out there than your government paperwork and your... your bad suits and gas-hogging cars and human criminals. Life and reality is not constructed simply of what you can see and touch and smell. And you can't deny something exists just because you can't see it-"

"Are you going to answer my question or do I have to put you back in the cage?"

Gibbs drilled his eyes into Stepford and the hunter shut his trap and re-examined the photos. "You can lock me up," he finally muttered. "But you can't keep me here."

"Did you or did you not murder this boy!?"

Stepford's eyes hit the ceiling and came back to Gibbs. "Dean Winchester is considered... Black listed among hunters. He and his brother are bad, bad news. Sam Winchester is on everyone's death-wish list for starting the apocalypse. Why, do you think, there's so much weirdness out there? How do you explain the destruction of so many cities? Green Bay, Atlanta, Houston, and my favorite, Oakland, California...all burned extra-crispy. I was trying to get Dean to turn his brother over to the proper authorities... so to speak."

Gibbs took back the photos. "And who determines who the proper authorities are, Stepford? Huh? _Angels? Pixies? ET_?"

Alex shrugged. "The only way to get Dean's attention was to... make a statement."

"You mean murder," Gibbs growled.

"Hunters have their own brand of justice, Gibbs. There's things out there that prey on humans and we're the ones who dispense with them. Sometimes there's collateral damage. It's never neat and clean. But someone has to kill the monsters."

"Well, lucky for you, you're being extradited to Cicero in the morning." Gibbs all but flew to the door.

"Don't leave me here tonight, Agent Gibbs. Come on... how about locking me up some place else?"

Gibbs quietly laughed. "There's only one answer I'll give you, Stepford and that's that you're damn lucky I don't just tear into you right now."

Stepford rolled his eyes. "There is something out there, something I came to hunt. If you leave me here in one place, it'll pick up the scent-"

"Good! Maybe the Headless Horseman can get away with doing something I legally can't!" Gibbs slammed the door and stomped down the hall.

After his fourth nap for the day, Castiel opened his eyes and discovered his body was well enough to leave the hospital. He showered and dressed as his day nurse entered the room to check on his progress.

"Are you preparing to leave AMA?" the older woman asked gruffly.

"I am fine," Cass declared as he buttoned a new shirt Dean brought for him. "I need to leave and find Dean."

She watched him a moment then frowned. "Well, you'll have to stay here long enough for me to retrieve your departure papers."

As he waited, Castiel searched through his coat pockets and retrieved the wallet Dean put together for him. Driver's licence, false FBI ID, a card with emergency numbers and two addresses on it. Cass slightly smiled. Dean took care of him just as much as he took care of Sam. And yet, Castiel should be the one who took care of them both. It left the angel torn between gratitude and guilt. He picked out the credit card and wondered why he never bothered to ask Bobby whether or not the card was legitimate.

The very young desk clerk accepted the card without question and when it processed without a hitch, Cass wondered all the more. Bobby was very, very good.

Cass walked from the hospital to the motel room but did not find Dean there. Rummaging through their things, Cass found Sam's spare cell phone and dialed. He made sure he had the motel room key before closing the door and hit the sidewalk.

"Hello, Sam," he greeted. "No, Dean's fine. I just thought I'd find out if you've received the book yet." Castiel eyed the sidewalk ahead, the road to his left and the number of shops around him. The police station lay one quarter of a mile away.

Sam thought he had the right book. He ransacked the pile of books on Bobby's desk before collapsing into the chair. "_I'm sorry, Cass, it's not here yet_."

The doorbell rang and Sam, phone against his ear, tore through the cluttered house and opened the door. "_Never mind, Cass! It's here_!" he signed for the package with a thank you and plopped on the couch with a heaving sigh.

"Are you alright, Sam?"

Roxi approached and sat at his feet. "_Just dizzy,_" Sam replied, glad for the dog's company. "_Are you sure you guys are okay? Do you think I need to come there_?"

Castiel paused to wait for traffic and lifted his eyes above the town buildings, reading the mid-afternoon sky. Something moved along Darby's streets. Something searched business buildings and homes. But it moved in such a way that Castiel could not pinpoint its location. It left a scent like cherries and desert-baked dirt.

"No, Sam," Castiel answered at length. "Dean is right. You need to stay with Bobby. We'll probably call you tomorrow." Sam again conceded and Cass hung up. The sensation did not diminish. He crossed the street and passed two boutique shops and an antiques store before finding the town park. Taking a right hand turn off his course, Castiel treaded lightly upon the grass. He peered between trees and scanned playground equipment. Under the bars of a jungle gym, a group of children sat huddled, whispering among themselves. Three of them spotted the angel but did not react.

Cass took that as a sign of acceptance and strolled near them. His dark shoes made no noise even on the gravel.

The littlest child, a boy of six or seven years, greeted the angel with a toothless smile. The older children looked on with an air of suspicion and uncertainty. Castiel crouched directly in front of the little boy but eyed the children one at a time.

"You've seen it, haven't you?" he asked off-handedly.

At first none of the children spoke. Then one girl whispered into another girl's ear. The second girl with raven hair and dark eyes nailed Castiel in a way that would have made Dean nervous. "It's not an It; it's a he and he has a name."

"What is his name?" Cass' voice stayed soft, but retained its gravely nature.

"G'Gojelmith."

"Sh! Addie, don't say it out loud!"

"I **know** that, Freda! But he's an angel and he won't let anything happen to us." Addie looked back to Castiel. Her eyes held knowledge that belied her years. "Freda's right. We shouldn't talk about it. Most kids don't cuz nobody believes us anyway."

"I believe you, Addie," Castiel assured her. "Has he spoken to you at all?"

Addie shook her head. "No. But he spoke to Corvan."

Cass tilted his head just so. "How do you know that?"

"He told me. Corvan said there was something in his closet. He went to church with his mom last Sunday and he saw it looking at him through the windows."

Castiel gave each child another glance. "How do you know his name?"

The little boy blurted the answer: "Minerva Eastman. She told Freda."

"Sean!" Freda exclaimed, "you are SUCH a tattle-tale!"

"I am not!"

"You are too!"

"It's alright," Castiel assured them. "I'm sure you're not the only ones to whom Minerva spoke." the angel stood. "Thank you."

Sean bit his lower lip. "Does that mean you're going to get that bad man?"

"Yes."

"'kay." the little boy smiled as Castiel retreated from them. He turned to his big sister. "I liked him. His, his wings were pretty."

The girls stared at the little boy and blinked. They knew what Castiel was, but did not see his wings.

A tall wiry young man with a blonde goatee and a mean twinkle in his eye approached the first desk he encountered at the police station. He curved his thin lips into a smile and made the receptionist nervous. "Rightful day to you, Lady. I'd like to visit a two-faced schmuck that goes by the name of Alex Stepford."

The phone rang and the chubby gal stammered. "Uh... can you hold for a second?" she picked up the receiver but kept her eyes on the leering person in front of her. "Sheriff's office, this is Maggie. Oh, hello Mr. Bransby. No, I'm sorry, I can give out no information regarding the NCIS investigation. What other man? I don't have that information. I'm sorry, Mr. Bransby, you'll have to discuss that with Sheriff Lightwater. You're welcome." She hung up then startled when the rail-thin man shoved his face into hers.

"Please, _Maggie_, sweet thing of Darby, Montana, I'd like to visit Alex Stepford. I'll not be long."

Maggie squirmed. "I'll, um, I'll go get someone to escort you... Mr...?"

"Ahben. You can call me Ahben. _Ahben here, Ahben there_. Get it?" He planted his palms on the desk, leaned clear over and smiled a toothy grin.

Maggie rolled back in her chair and stood from her desk. "Alright. Just don't move. I'll be right back."

Ahben scanned the room. His eyes lingered on several women and every one of them glanced back at him with uneasy expressions. Special Agent Ziva David pinned him with suspicion but her eyes shot away when the front door opened for Dean Winchester's mysterious friend. Her eyes narrowed when her head screamed trouble. She left her desk and approached within a discreet distance.

As Castiel took a right, Ahben caught the angel's left arm and gave Cass a dirty look. "Well, what's this? Some light-headed freak walking among mortals. What's your name, _Bene Ha Elohim_?"

Cass regarded him coldly. "What is yours, _Ashmedai?"_

Ahben scoffed. "Typical. Let me give you a small warning, Feathers: humans make for bad company. If you're not careful, you'll start acting and sounding just like them. Never thought I'd see the day when an angel lowers himself to the level of a human's servant. It's abhorrent."

"Mister Ahben?" a lady cop called his attention as her hand rested on her baton. She did not miss the stranger's tight grip on Castiel's arm. "You said you wanted to visit Alex Stepford." She did not like his salesman's grin.

Ahben turned from her to Castiel with disgust. "Hope you're not sleeping with them, too."

Castiel yanked his arm from Ahben's grip. His eyes dismissed the stranger with silent reprehension.

Ahben followed the lady cop. He grinned, knowing Agent DiNozzo tagged them at a discrete distance.

"Alex Stepford, I assume?" Ahben greeted with another grin. He swept low with a mock bow and approached the cell. His dark eyes measured the bars and walls of Alex's present abode. "Landed yourself in a nine-by-twelve, I see. Actually... technically, it's an eight and three-quarters by ten and an eighth."

Stepford approached the bars, arms folded across his developed chest. "Sorry. I'm currently not in the office."

"Where is it, Stepford?"

"Somewhere in town."

Ahben stared at the floor. "Very well. Here's my ultimatum. Hand over the Thyrsos and I'll not kill you."

The hunter cackled. "Not likely to happen, my joyful, ancient freak. Not with so many people here. In case you had not noticed, humans don't sleep so much at night, anymore. Besides, Dean Winchester is here."

"Paper tigers are never of great concern, Mr. Stepford. I've already spoken with his feathered friend and frankly, I am disappointed. Now. Where is the Thyrsos?"

"What's it worth to you?"

The rail-thin man hesitated and froze his visual acuity on the overconfident person before him. "Really, Mister Stepford? Money?"

Stepford's eyes rolled toward the supervising cop, indicating he did not want to speak around her. Ahben glared. "Don't worry about her, she won't remember anything once I leave the building."

Alex nodded, his eyes roved along the top of his cell. "Dean Winchester."

Ahben huffed. "Are you serious?"

"You're not afraid, are you? His brother, Sam, started the apocalypse. He's wanted dead."

Ahben rolled his eyes. "Sam Winchester fulfilled his destiny. The world has changed. Boohoo."

Stepford's eyes widened. "Thousands of people died!"

"And thousands more died during the Black Plague, World War One, the Spanish Influenza, the Croatoan outbreak in Africa-_yes_, Mr. Stepford, people died. That's what they do; they're born, they live, they _die_. You can't stop people from dying. It's the natural order of things. Now if you're finished wailing about the unfairness of life and how someone threw a stick in your path, I'd like to know where the Thyrsos is."

"Go. To. Hell."

Ahben stared a long moment before quietly departing. The attending officer blinked and glanced around in a daze. She watched the wiry figure disappear down the hall before laying eyes on Stepford with a frown.

"Get me your sheriff. I want more protection than this," the hunter snarled.

The lady cop scoffed. "Don't bother with making demands. In case you hadn't noticed, we're in a small town. Nobody gets what they want." she walked out and did not see Tony slip out of hiding. He flashed Stepford a grin and abandoned the hunter to his miserable self.

"Hey!" Stepford shouted. "You'd better get me some better security! I WANT PROTECTION!"

Dean and Agent McGee followed Clouded Moon as the shaman circled the campground several times over. The shaman blessed those places where the investigators died. He cleansed the ground outside five cabins and twice around the firepit.

McGee tried to maintain his respect but his waning patience rubbed him into a state of crankiness. Dean shot him a warning look twice before McGee got the message. The NCIS agent shadowed at a slower pace, hoping they'd find another piece of evidence or something of valued interest.

Clouded Moon approached Cabin Number Nine and paused three yards from it. He stared, his aged eyes wrinkled before he turned to Dean. "Grave and deep is the wound that lies here, Imadradas. A soul bled here. The smell of it attracted attention, called to a spirit of the wood and the wind. Fear has contaminated the air and the ground and it left footprints from here..."

The shaman turned southwest and found Cabin Number Eight. He faced Number Nine again and drew a deep breath. "I smell many things:" he said, "inconsolable sorrow. Terrible fear. Death. Rage." He looked at Dean. "You and the angel were here, also."

Dean nodded. "We investigated the cabin. That's when this guy's groupies ambushed us." he nodded toward McGee.

"It wasn't an ambush," McGee defended. "You were trespassing."

As if McGee hadn't said a thing, Dean moved ahead, treading the blood stained steps and entered the cabin. Clouded Moon followed in his exact footfalls. But before he entered the cabin, he turned to the NCIS agent. "Do not leave your area, Agent McGee."

Tim frowned as his companions entered the cabin's dark interior. The moment the shaman's form disappeared, McGee thought he spotted movement behind the trees, down the slope. He tried to peer between the trees but saw nothing. With a glance at the cabin-and knowing full well that he should do as told-he trounced down the slope. Drawing his handgun, McGee told himself over and over that ghosts can't hurt people.

Dean retraced his steps. They entered the kitchen where once again he gagged at the sharp, pungent smell of dead cat. Clouded Moon paused and offered a silent prayer. He examined the kitchen with care. He peered through the window before producing a sharpie pen. He laid tiny marks along the window's dirty corners before opening a cupboard door and repeating the action.

Dean led him upstairs first to Lorena Eastman's room then Minerva's. Clouded Moon did little more than glance into Lorena's room but upon entering Minerva's, the shaman stumbled against the wall as though stricken by an invisible force. Dean caught him and the old man clung like a sick child.

"Ohhh," the shaman mourned, "here... here the wound festered! The infection spread and... and they must burn this place, Dean Winchester. There is a door here, in this room. This place must be burned. I cannot clean it."

Dean helped Clouded Moon to the bed and crouched before the Native. "I hate to break this to you, Friend, but uh, there's a few laws against arson. And I don't exactly know what the penalty is in Montana, but I'm sure it includes jail time." Dean's heart lifted when Clouded Moon smiled and squeezed his shoulder. Now the younger man realized why he liked the shaman as much as he did: Moon reminded Dean of his father.

"Call your brother, Dean. I will finish my task here and meet you outside." Dean opened his mouth to protest but the shaman's expression turned parental. "Go downstairs, Dean and call Sam."

Dean blinked and nodded. He retreated outside, glad to leave the oppressive crime scene. He took perch at the corner of the wooden porch and tried to direct his eyes along the trees. Dean dialed his phone and momentarily wondered how Castiel was doing. The phone rang two, three, four times before someone picked it up.

Sam greeted with a fearful whisper. _"H...hello_?"

Dean flinched, disconcerted. He forgot all about Clouded moon, "Sammy?" Pause. "Sam?"

Sam loudly swallowed "_Hi, Dean_," his wispy voice told of weariness.

Dean's heart stopped beating a moment. "Sammy, are you okay?"

Sam drew a shuddering breath. "_No. No."_

"Let me talk to Bobby, Sam." Dean's voice came stern but gentle. His worry factor shot up.

"_Just me. I know there's light. But I think they're searching. They search in the light."_

Dean forced a sigh, forced himself to remain calm. "Sammy, where are you? Where's Marco?"

"_Marco isn't here. I am here._"

If he thought it possible, Dean would jump into the Impala and zip back to South Dakota. How did Clouded Moon know? "Tell me what you see." he said patiently.

Sam's soft voice lingered with a pause after each sentence. "_I'm in a room. It is small and closed. And is this Dean? Is this for real?_"

Dean swallowed hard, "yeah, Sammy. It's me and I'm here, even if it's just my voice-"

"_Keep talking to me." _Sam begged, _"I want to hear something. It's so... it's all laid out in front of me..." _

"Sam-"

"_I remember the angels. I remember their screams. The clouds pulled them apart and it burned bitter... The angels screamed..._" he softly wept.

Dean's heart ached. His blood raced with fear and guilt. Why did he leave his brother alone? "Sam," Dean kept his voice leveled, "are you in the bedroom? ... is there any sunshine there? Is it sunny?"

"_Not anymore_."

"Is Marco there?" Dean waited for another answer; silence rang the death knell of his patience. "Sammy?"

Sam finally responded, but his mind and voice drifted into the throes of memory, _"I remember my brother. I loved the light in his eyes._"

Dean swallowed the brick in his throat. "Sam," he whispered.

"_I don't think I ever told him, but he sang one song on key. I think he did that for me. Or at least, I like to think he did_."

"Sam... Sammy, you're not Down There any more, right? You're up here, with me and Bobby and Cass. And my God, Sammy, I'm so sorry! I should never have left!" Dean held his breath, waiting for his brother to answer. He counted his heartbeats until Sam spoke again.

"_This is Dean? Are you saying that I'm here?" _

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean answered softly. He closed his eyes and swallowed his fear as Sam continued to climb out of his mental lapse.

"_The window and the beds and the closet are real too?"_ Sam gasped the next words pushed aside the rest of Dean's anxiety: "_Hey, Roxi_!" Sam's voice lifted and Dean let out a breath and raked his hair. Roxi panted into the phone and Sam cooed and praised the gentle border collie. Abby O'Conner wasn't kidding when she said the dogs were a godsend to Sam. Dean's shoulders sagged in relief. "Sammy?" he called, "hey, me and Cass will be home in a couple more days, okay? You hear me?"

"_Yeah,"_ his answer came so simple, so childlike.

"You hang in there, Little Bro."

"_I was worried about you, Dean,_" Sam answered softly. "_I had this dream and it was sad. I couldn't get it out of my head_."

Dean choked up and swore this was the last time he'd travel this far from Sam. He knew sooner or later he'd have to face the fact that he'd have to leave the hunting life. "I'm okay, Sammy," he assured his little brother. "I want you to call Abby or Camila, okay? I'm sure Bobby will be home very soon."

"_Okay_."

"Get some sleep, Sam."

"_Okay_."

"I'll talk to you in a while."

"_Okay._"

Dean disconnected as McGee climbed up the gentle slope. "Found some odd prints by the creek out that way..." he laid eyes on Dean's cell phone. "You know there's no cell service out this way, right?"

Dean stopped breathing. He'd completely forgotten. And yet... he checked his phone:

**NO SERVICE**

He gave McGee a withering smile. "Right. Of course. I-ah-was just checking the time. I think my watch is slow."

The agent nodded as Clouded Moon emerged from the cabin. Dean darted to the shaman's aid as he took one step at a time. He smiled in gratitude; the shaman's wrinkles reminded Dean of Pastor Jim. "Come, Dean. We have one more cabin to visit."

Six P.M. No Special Agent Timothy McGee. Tony spun in his chair and stared at the high ceiling. Gibbs ordered dinner and the take-out took its time. Tony fixed his eyes on the florescent lights and pondered the conversation between the skinny weirdo and Alex Stepford. They already pinned suspicion on Loren Eastman's husband's loan shark. But the proof of murder wasn't there.

And little Minerva's Alice-in-Wonderland story wasn't exactly the type of book Gibbs was willing to buy. How could they write down "death by monster" on their report and not get thrown into a rubber room themselves? As far as Gibbs was concerned, _someone_ murdered all those campers and the NCIS forensics team.

"Hey, Tony?" Gibbs called from across the room. "Word from McGee?"

"Notta on the Geester, Boss. And there's 'no home phone' in the land of Oz." Tony decided to volunteer to fetch dinner from the slow-poke delivery when a dispatcher's phone rang. Surprised, Tony looked in her direction. He hadn't heard the phone ring all day.

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency? Oh-okay, ma'am... ma'am I need you to calm down a moment. What's your name? Alexis Minch? What's the address? Yes, we're sending someone out right now. You just get out-ma'am? Ma'am?" she dropped the call and jumped to her feet. "Agent Gibbs?"

"Yes!"

"Alexis Minch... she has temporary custody of those three children who survived the campground slaughter? She says the house is on fire and the two girls are missing."

71


	7. What Little Boys are Made Of

Chain Reaction chapt 6

What Little Boys are Made Of

Sheriff Lightwater bolted out the door, cell phone in hand. Gibbs followed. He swept his gear over his shoulder and stuffed one item after another in various pockets. He did not see Castiel silently enter the office. "Ziva, DiNozzo," the agent ordered, "stay put." He reached for his hat and ran a double-check.

Tony's eyes reflected dismay, "You're going by yourself, Boss?"

"I got the sheriff to-" Gibbs turned and flinched with a start when he came nose-to-nose with Castiel. The NCIS agent glanced left then back to the angel, confusion wrote across his face.

"I'm coming with you," Castiel said firmly.

"Like hell you are."

"You do not know what you might encounter. It very well could be the same thing that killed your investigators."

"I don't need some crackpot in a trench coat tagging along, contaminating another crime scene. Why aren't you locked up?" Gibbs' eyes flared.

Castiel kept his 'close-encounter' distance with the human. "Agent Gibbs, I am neither in the mood nor in the position to compromise or debate the situation. Either take me with you or end up in a near-accident when I suddenly appear in the front seat of your car. Either way, I _am_ coming."

Gibbs seethed. "I should have you arrested, Mister."

Castiel's eyes hardened. "Don't entertain the notion."

Onlookers crowded the outlying lawns and sidewalks near 2993 Southwic Ave. A few neighbors attempted to bypass searing flames to rescue those inside the engulfed house. But the fire, far too hot and out of control, isolated its prisoners like a fiery salt ring.

The fire department squalled and blared its arrival. Two fire chiefs and three eager police officers herded the gawking crowd while firefighters tackled blaze control. Gibbs watched with aching eyes as Sheriff Lightwater swiftly conversed with rescue crews. In spite of their suites, firefighters assured no one could survive the ghastly firestorm discharging out every orifice in the house.

The fire belched another flaming ball from the north side. The fire department intensified their efforts against the eruption to prevent a potential grassfire. They did not see a lone, silhouetted figure emerge from the upstairs window. Gibbs stripped off his jacket and he and two other townsmen leapt over the bright security tape to the rescue.

"Jump!" the agent shouted above the roaring fire.

The person in question disappeared one moment then returned with a heavy lamp. The window shattered but the blaze muted its cracking noise. Mrs Minch half lunged out the window, gasping for air. She hacked smoke from her lungs. "The-" she coughed, "the girls are missing!" her voice caught and broke amid another cloud of smoke, "The girls are missing!" she repeated.

"Just jump!" Agent Gibbs yelled ever louder. He watched, annoyed when the endangered case worker hesitated. She sat on the broken window ledge, her back to the outside world. The volunteers swiftly laced their hands and all faces winced when the middle-aged woman dropped safely into the human net. They whisked her from the scorching heat while she stumbled and coughed deep and hard.

"'gent Gibbs!" she coughed and coughed. "The girls..." another volunteer brought her a cup of cold water while paramedics prepped an oxygen mask. "The girls 'r gone! I couldn't find Austin-" she broke into another violent coughing fit and dragged fresh oxygen into her lungs.

Gibbs swore and turned to Castiel. But Dean Winchester's unlicensed nutcase had vanished.

Cass teleported into the broiling house. Blackened walls and toxic fumes clouded the livingroom. Glassware exploded in the kitchen while the refrigerator melted. Castiel mentally searched the crumbling house for the presence of human life.

There! Bathroom. Austin lay in the bathtub, holding his breath under water. Without preamble, the angel touched the child and half a second later, they stood beside the paramedics. The lady jumped with a start. She recovered in a breath, swept the young man onto the back of the ambulance and supplied him with oxygen and a blanket.

Austin watched as the ambulance driver and another paramedic loaded Mrs. Minch onto a gurney, snapped a new oxygen mask over her face and tied her down. After several good breaths, Austin turned to Castiel.

"Thanks," he croaked. He sucked in more air, "I don't know what happened."

Before Castiel commented, Gibbs pushed his way through the crowd of onlookers and volunteers. He glared at Cass then softened his look at the boy. "You wanna tell me what happened, Austin?"

Austin drew another fresh breath. "We were doing homework... well, me and Minerva were doing homework. Penny was drawing. You know, pretending to do homework. Casey, Mrs. Minch's son, he called. Said he'd be late home cuz he had detention at school." (Breath) "I dunno. Mrs. Minch sorta flew off the handle, you know? She shouted at Mackey over the phone then hung up. Penny got scared and I told her Mrs. Minch wasn't mad at her. But she just started crying."

Austin paused and took in several deep puffs of oxygen. "Then Minerva looked at me funny, as if she saw something behind me. Then we heard an explosion downstairs. Just this big BOOM, you know?" he shook his head and the boy's face winced with confusion. "Then all this fire... and the smoke. And Penny screamed and I couldn't find her. I couldn't see nothing and then Minerva screamed. And... I dunno. I ran into the bathroom and filled the bathtub." Austin scowled and dropped his distraught gaze upon his soaked jeans.

Gibbs' eyes stayed glued to the boy, expecting more. But when nothing came forth, the detective whipped out his cell phone and dialed. "You don't remember seeing who or what took your sister and Minerva?" A miserable shake of the boy's head answered his question. Tony's phone rang and rang and rang.

Agent Gibbs double-checked the number. His worried eyes drifted to Castiel who read the expression.

"Something's wrong."

Gibbs nodded. "Come on, DiNozzo, pick up."

"Hey!" Lightwater approached them and held his iphone for them to see: NO ANSWER. "I think we got trouble back at the-"

The burning house burst into an explosive finale. The shockwave rolled two police cars over and flattened onlookers, workers and volunteers in a sixteen-yard radius. Mrs. Minch and the gurney to which she was strapped, flew out the paramedic's trained hands. An unrelated invisible force whacked Castiel. He lurched through the air and smashed into the nearest police car. The same force buffeted Gibbs and he clocked the sidewalk.

Austin screamed.

A throbbing head injury seized Gibbs in dire disorientation. His training took command and with great effort, Jethro pitched and swayed to his feet. Extreme nausea bent his body like an old man. Gibbs hardened his face, determined. He wiped blood streaming down his face and through the smokey haze, made out Austin's prone form several feet from his proximity. An eerie, unnatural shape hovered over the boy like a predator. Gibbs' hand feebly searched for his handgun. The movement twisted his cracked ribs in the wrong direction and forced the agent to his hands and knees.

Austin screamed for help amid heavy coughing and the NCIS agent once again lunged to his feet. Pain laid claim to his physical limitations and shot through his body like a poisoned dagger. His efforts watered into futility. Gibbs collapsed and watched helplessly.

The creature-whatever the hell it was-existed as two figures occupying the same space at the same time. One figure did not look dissimilar from a human. It-_he_-cracked an ancient smile at Gibbs. His bottom eyelids drooped and revealed all their ghastly blood vessels. Fat lips accompanied a double-chin. A grey cloak and hood concealed much of the male's form, but it required no imagination to tell the figure's overweight build. A large sack made of old hemp hung limp from his left hand while his right hand snatched Austin by the collar. The second figure ghosted around the humanoid form. It stood nine feet and beheld the world through a set of glowing cat's eyes. Long arms ended with talons. Long legs ended in claws. Gibbs could not make out a mid-section in the dark.

The hooded portion of the two figures yanked Austin off the ground and shoved him into the sack as if the boy were not much more than a stuffed toy. With the sack slung over his shoulder, the apparition calmly left the crime scene.

The minute its eyes left Gibbs, some of his strength returned.

The kidnapper almost vanished from the crime scene when Gibbs commanded all his strength and will and attempted a final desperate leap. He threw himself against the perpetrator.

The smell of old cloth and dust seeped through the stench of burnt wood and plastic.

Jethro wrestled for Austin's freedom even as agony weakened his limbs and darkened his vision. An inhuman growl thundered in his ear. Unable to grab the sack with one hand, Gibbs wrapped his arms completely around it and twisted it out of the kidnapper's hand.

Claws ripped the entire left side of his face and shoulder. A flash of light stung his eyes and in a second everything went calm.

"_...ibbs?...gent...ibbs? Can you... me?"_

Jethro Gibbs sucked in a deep breath. His eyes snapped open. He hacked and coughed until his throat ached. Someone rubbed his back while the rest of the world rushed around him in a surrealistic panic. Gentle but firm hands forced him down and secured him to a gurney. A mid-aged woman's face faded into his hazy view while her dark eyes examined his injuries. She turned from him and Gibbs caught sight of Castiel's face before he passed out.

"I'm sorry," the lady paramedic said to Cass as she slipped out the ambulance. "He's not coherent at all. We're taking him and the boy to emergency. You can follow us if you'd like." she diverted her eyes to Cass' left as Sheriff Lightwater approached.

"We're heading back to the station, Tracy," he said as he dusted off his old hat. "Have them contact us there. I'm sending an escort just in case." He turned to the angel. "You, with me."

Castiel rode with Lightwater in silence. Whatever injured Agent Gibbs, smashed Castiel against the police car so hard he blacked out. The attacking entity was not the same thing that assaulted him at the motel. The entity, or monster, was interested only in the boy. Castiel suspected the children were openly and aggressively attacked by the ocu.

However, as far as Cass understood, it was not the nature of an ocu to attack so brazenly; the act was of desperation. Had Castiel not intervened when Agent Gibbs attempted his rescue, Austin would have been the next victim. Cass turned his eyes to Lightwater who chewed on his finger as they approached a red light. "Sheriff," he said quietly, "I need to contact Sam."

Lightwater's tired, agitated eyes darted to then away from Castiel. "Who?"

"Sam Winchester. Dean's brother."

The light changed and Lightwater resumed toward the sheriff's office. "I need a stiff drink," he muttered. "You can use the office phones there, uh... _Jimmy_."

"Castiel," the angel corrected. "Jimmy Novak is the name of my vessel."

Lightwater rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Whatever." He steered the scratched and dented car onto the police station parking lot. "What the... son of a bitch!" he steered the car a hard right to avoid a runaway pickup truck. It bounded off the lot and screeched along the road, marring the street with treads.

Tony wasn't keen over his assigned babysitting job. Ziva busied herself on case review, leaving Agent DiNozzo miserably bored. He and she stayed while the rest of 'Hobbiton's' office employees departed for the night. The dispatch switched shifts from Maggie to some geeky dweeb with glasses and a hair style he must have inherited from a caveman ancestor. Tony wasn't remotely interested in striking a conversation with someone who stared at a computer monitor while scratching his armpits.

Even McGee had more class than that.

Leaving Ziva and Armpit Dweeb to the office's dead silence, Tony visited their suspect. Not that he expected any better a conversation with the voodoo wacko, but at least Stepford was a different face.

Tony unlocked the door and swore when a metal folding chair thunked him topside. He stumbled backward, caught his balance, kicked around and caught Stepford as the hunter raced for freedom. Stepford tripped and belly-flopped the floor. He twisted, kicked Tony in the face and wormed away. Tony caught him again and lost his wind when Alex slammed him into the nearest wall.

The world blacked out, glared back and DiNozzo forced himself on hands and knees until he picked himself up. Echos of a fight bounced from the front office. Tony berated himself: he should have never left his gun out in the open.

Ziva slipped round one side of a metal desk when Stepford aimed for her. He shoved the desk into her with all his might. Ziva used the momentum. She jumped onto the desk and kicked the hunter in the jaw. He fell back, she leapt after. He caught her legs and they rolled. Agent David cuffed the butt of her hand into his nose and tried to roll away.

Stepford grabbed her by the hair, yanked her around and punched Ziva three times. She hit the floor and he punched her into unconsciousness. Tony almost reached his gun when Alex grabbed Ziva's off her belt and cocked it.

"Nice try, F-bozo," he said. "Drop the piece." he waited three second: "**NOW**!"

Tony held up his hands and slowly set his pistol on the nearest desk. He obeyed when Stepford signaled for him to move closer to the front door. "You know you're on candid camera," DiNozzo warned. "This won't go over very well. They'll wanna roast you, toast you and coast you into several years' of time chipping away at rocks."

Alex laughed. "You people are the very least of my worries. At least now I have something I didn't have before."

"Oh really?" Tony challenged.

"Yeah. Bait. Out the door. Now." Stepford waited and when Tony did not comply soon enough, he shot the dispatcher in the arm. The poor little dweeb dropped to the floor, wiggling like an injured worm, wailing like a dying dog. "NOW!" Alex shouted again.

Tony exited the office first and the hunter tagged as though tethered. He roughly cuffed Tony and stuffed him into the first pickup truck they encountered. When DiNozzo tried to rebel, Stepford gave him a solid whack with the weapon, started the vehicle and smoked asphalt before crashing out the parking lot. He gunned the truck the half second Lightwater's damaged car came into view.

Stepford jammed the pickup truck off the main road and squiggled his path on a zig-zag between alleyways and neighborhood streets until he found Hwy 93.

DiNozzo came to as Stepford passed the only other vehicle on the road and five hundred feet later, steered right onto the dirt road leading to the Bitter Root campground. Tony stifled a moan and winced as he squirmed against the bindings. "You know, Stepford," he said, "if you were looking to elope with me, all you had to do was ask."

"You probably don't know this, DiNozzo, but forty-seven percent of people have nightmares at least once a month."

"Too bad that's not very amusing," Tony answered. "How about this one: most people who think they're funny really aren't. The only reason that might be an exception in your case is because you look funny. Your only saving grace."

Stepford glanced at DiNozzo before he slammed the truck into park. "You know, I'm willing to bet you and Winchester get along just fine."

"Two peas in a pod. Two beans in a cup of coffee."

The hunter double-checked his handgun and snorted.

DiNozzo huffed again when Stepford disembarked without an answer. DiNozzo's door opened and Alex dragged him out like a bad dog. Tony stumbled in the dark until Stepford forced him down and tied him to a wooden support beam. The lack of light made the NCIS agent guess their whereabouts. He deduced they were at campground cabin.

"Now what?" he asked his captor.

"We wait. Shouldn't be too long. You make a good target."

Tony laughed. "That's what all my dates tell me. So, really, what are we doing here?"

"This is where it all started," Alex said. He sniffed as though in need to blow his nose. "This is Cabin Nine. I don't have all the details, but something happened here."

Another voice a few octaves above Stepford's baritone added to the conversation as Ahben's figure emerged from the nearby trees. "Something did happen," Ahben declared. "Something cold hearted and cruel. This land has never witnessed cruelty. It only knew days of joy and nights shared in love and mirth-making. The trees welcomed visitors with whispering sighs and the stars blessed children as they slept in comfort and safety." Ahben stood between the two men. Tony did not like the unnatural light shimmering from the slender figure's eyes.

"But a woman came here," Ahben continued. "She brought deep-seated grief with her. She brought her fearful child and everyday she raised the level of dread and insecurity so that the girl-child lived in perpetual fear. The scent of that fear awakened an old spirit. And it might have stayed asleep had not the woman, drunken with self-inflicted misery, not committed other acts of horror."

Ahben scanned the grounds and Tony felt a strange sense of relief when the stranger's eyes left him. Ahben settled his gaze on Stepford. "You still have my Thrysos."

Alex grinned. "Finish the story, Ahben. Tell Agent DiNozzo here exactly what happened. After all, if he's going to die, he has the right to hear it all."

Ahben's gaze flashed cold. "I do not like you, Alex Stepford. You know there is a monster loose and yet you wish to play games."

Stepford raised his chin and pointed the gun at Tony. "Finish. The story."

Ahben scowled and raised his eyes to the cabin. "The little girl had two kittens. Her mother killed them. She had innocence and willingly killed it. Then she smeared their blood on the cabin here and the cabin there and the cabins elsewhere. This angered another spirit, a satyr who lived here long, long before the land changed and humans arrived and killed each other."

Ahben paused and his eyes met the ground. He wrapped his long arms around himself and his tone came slow and mournful. "The thing of it is, even non-humans make mistakes. Even creatures who do not possess the same kind of soul as do humans, can inflict their own reaction upon the innocent and make a bad situation worse. And that's what the satyr did. In the spirit of self-righteousness, he declared the land spoilt. He slaughtered all the innocent beasts in the area and hung them from the rafters and trees. His actions roused terror among those who camped here. The fear increased exponentially and roused the sleeping spirit. And now it is free and it hunts innocence."

Ahben went nose-to-nose with Stepford. "Now give me the Thyrsos!"

Unfazed by Ahben's shimmering eyes, Stepford tucked his expression into neutrality. "You tell me how to eliminate the ocu, first. And then we need to capture your beast and _then_ I will return your staff to you."

Ahben stared hard at the hunter, neither crossed the boundaries of agreement until Ahben relaxed and smiled. "And here I thought you were legitimately afraid of me, Stepford."

Alex nodded. "I think not. That's the whole point of leverage and bait. So how about we simply work together?"

"Bait?" Ahben wheezed half in laughter. "That?" he pointed to Tony. "He's about as appealing as tree bark!"

Tony pushed his cheeks into a smile. "Thanks that's very reassuring. How about you turn me down and let me go?"

"**Shut up**," the hunter and stranger chorused.

Dean drove back to the office. The entire ceremony lasted longer than McGee; he fell instantly asleep in the backseat. Clouded Moon kept company in shotgun but said little to nothing. The thought of a cold beer, some funny TV and hard sleep sounded good to Dean but hunter's instinct wrote that as a no-chance. They passed a nondescript pickup truck on the return trip to town. Darby lay quiet and Dean's uneasiness grew.

From Hwy 93 to South Main Street and to the sheriff's office, Dean couldn't help but notice the plume of smoke growing in an easterly direction. He pulled in front of the office and did not wait to wake McGee. All the lights were on and people milled in and around the office. One swift glance told Dean a fight happened here. Ziva sat in a chair, attended by a paramedic. Another fellow, the night dispatch, trembled and answered Sheriff Lightwater's questions with a mousy voice.

Relief touched Dean's otherwise worried expression when Castiel appeared from the hallway. He handed a fingerprint kit to a nearby officer and approached Dean.

"Alex Stepford has escaped, Dean. He took Agent Tony DiNozzo with him."

"What was he driving, anyone know?"

Castiel shook his head. "A pickup truck. And Dean,"

"Yeah."

"Special Agent Gibbs is in the hospital. We were attacked at the-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean held up his hands. "You and Gibbs?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"Apparently Alex Stepford told the truth when he said he was hunting an ocu; a boogeyman. It attacked the home where Minerva, Penny and Austin lived under temporary custody." Castiel read Dean's intense and fearful eyes. "Austin is alright. We got to him in time. Alexis Minch has been hospitalized with severe injuries. But the girls, Penny and Minerva, are missing. Someone set fire to the house."

Dean looked away and ran his fingers through his hair. Castiel aimed for a nearby empty room. Dean followed, wondering where he could find a cup of coffee. He closed the door and watched as Cass picked up the phone and dialed. "Cass?"

"I'm calling Sam."

"Why?"

"Sam?" Castiel said instead of answering Dean. "Were you able to-" Castiel cut himself off, drew up the chair and sat at the desk. He listening intently. "Sam?" he said softly, "Sam, would you like to speak to Dean? Yes, he's here. We're both here, Sam. Sam?" Confused, Cass handed the phone to Dean.

"Sam?" Dean called, "what's going on?"

"_They're crawling all over me. Bobby says there's nothing there, but it's under my skin, Dean. I can't stop... it won't sstop._"

Dean wanted to drop everything and zap home. But there were people who needed his help here. Coming to Darby wasn't so great an idea after all. "Sammy, I'm sorry-"

"_I thought the cars all disappeared, Dean. But they're still there. Bobby said_-"

"_Dean_?" Bobby's gruff voice intervened.

Dean swallowed hard. "Bobby, what the hell's going on?"

"_Well, at least Sam's not talking to an empty phone. Listen, Dean, I'm taking Sam to the crisis center tonight. That new pill is shoving him straight into Never-Never Land._"

Dean couldn't answer. He found a chair and sat hard while guilt and worry rode over him like a dump truck.

"_Dean_?" Bobby called, "_you there, Boy_?"

Sam's brother swallowed hard. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here, Bobby. It's just that-"

"_Don't you start worrying. I'll take care of Sam. You deal with whatever you need to take care of. You hear me?_" Bobby kept his voice firm to keep Dean's head on track.

Castiel leaned forward, eyes glued to his friend. "Dean," he said softly. He received a quick nod.

"Bobby, Cass was expecting Sam to do some research for him. Do you know if... if uh..."

"_The paper? Yeah, hold on a sec."_

Dean waited while Bobby drilled Sam for answers. Sammy said nothing until Dean heard: _"Roxi! Roxi! Come here, sweetheart._"

Bobby's voice returned to the phone. "_I'm sorry, Dean. Sam's not exactly 'home' right now. I guess I'll have to-what's that, Sam?"_ pause. _"Oh. This it? You sure? Okay."_ Bobby paused again and Dean set the phone on speaker while Castiel scrounged for pen and paper.

"Go ahead, Bobby," Dean instructed, "you're on speaker."

"_Bawls,"_ Bobby swore. _"Half of this is written in Enochian! How the hell... Sam, what's this about?"_

Castiel scowled at the phone. "Can you read it at all, Bobby?"

"_Yeah. But I can't just translate it off the bat."_

"Just read it, Bobby. I'll handle the rest."

"_Alright. In the Year of Our Lord, 1412, the French king, Charles VI suffered streaks of madness. He blathered on regarding visits by a 'devil of the wood'. It oft soothed-" _Bobby paused_, "'oft', Sam? Really?"_ he sighed and continued, _"It oft soothed him by song of his voice and sound of his pipe. A thing of strangeness, wrought only by Holy God happened there, else it be that of the devil and his agents. For Charles, king of France spake of a bright star falling from the sky. It smote part of the king's garden and the king's faithful hounds and yes, even the king's manservant."_

Bobby paused his narrative, "here's where Sam shifts into the tongues of angels: "_Invalim orthalas des eintavis. Sagun tulva Camarious. Setatuvus estil des salus tulva. _Camarious_ sorbus entailus torquaseque mors..."_

Dean watched Castiel concentrate on Bobby's voice and each word. He wrote down key points of Sam's dissertation then added notes of his own. Bobby heaved a heavy sigh when the notes ended.

"_Please tell me that made sense."_ he said.

"Perfect sense," Cass replied. "Thank you, Bobby and please thank Sam for me."

"_Alright. Well, I'm taking Sam to the clinic. I'll let you know how it goes."_ Bobby hung up and Castiel scribbled out more notes. Dean kept his mouth shut until the angel set his pen down.

"What, Cass? What's this about?"

The angel searched Dean's eyes briefly. "I suspected something more happened here other than the obvious, other than the campground incident and the ocu. But I had to be certain the situation was the same. So I asked Sam to look it up for me in an old book. Back in 1412, the king of France ran mad. What the historian, an English monk named Oxton of Four Elms, did not officially put down was that the king's madness was induced by a rogue satyr. The satyr, friendly at first, changed. The change occurred shortly after a star fell from the sky and wrecked part of the royal garden. The satyr turned mad and tormented Charles who gradually lost his mind. Meanwhile, elsewhere in France, a girl-child was born to a peasant family. Her name was Joan."

Dean's face turned blank with surprise. "Joan? As in Joan of Arc?"

"Yes."

Dean blinked slowly, his mind raced to piece things together. "Why is that important?"

"Because it was during that time that several angels took leave of Heaven. We always assumed Joan mistook them for patron saints. Among those who left heaven was Camarious, a lower-level angel, a record keeper. He was ordered to return and file his reports. But something happened and Camarious' Grace fragmented. Not to the extent that mine is fragmented, but those pieces set off a number of unusual events in years following the fragmentation."

Dean swallowed hard. "What events, Cass?"

"A teenage girl was able to lead an army of men against the English, for one. The Themes River froze a few years later. The main thing that always interested me was that the satyr who afflicted King Charles VI ran mad. It became two people; one seemed perfectly normal, the other, which the satyr called his 'beast', turned into a monster."

Dean lifted his chin in half a nod. "And you think the Grace fragment from Camarious might be responsible. How so, Cass?"

The angel read through his notes before answering. "The thing that attacked me at the motel was not the same thing that attacked Agent Gibbs and abducted the girls."

"Do you think they're working together?" Dean did not get an immediate answer. Castiel read and reread and re-reread the notes. His brows furrowed and Castiel's eyes diverted right. "Cass?" Dean called, "what is it?"

"This phrase here: _Invalim orthalas des eintavis. _It's... it's something my brother Michael used to say."

Puzzled, Dean shook his head. Castiel read through the notes again. "It's completely out of context, Dean."

"What does it say?"

"Terrible truths are found in the words of madness." Cass met Dean's eyes. "I think... I think Sam might have had conversations with Michael."

"In the Cage?"

"Yes." Dean ran a hand over his mouth and his eyes searched the ceiling. Castiel gave him a moment to compose himself. "I know it's hard for you to accept everything that's happened, Dean."

"I'll tell you what's hard to accept, Cass: _I_ started this whole mess, okay? I-I'm the one who was so selfish and afraid that I couldn't bear the thought of living alone, of being the only person who survived a family curse. If I had just left well enough alone, if I had just left Sam at Stanford, if I-"

"Dean! Stop." Castiel's voice cut the hunter off his diatribe and Dean froze. "Dean, in almost every single other alternate reality, you are still a hunter. Those in which you are not, you're _dead_."

Dean confronted his friend; green eyes inches from blue. "Then why Sam. Hu? Why not me? Why did he end up in the Cage? Isn't that where I'm supposed to be? Shouldn't I-"

"Sam is a sacrifice."

Dean's skin ran cold. His lips moved with too many questions but his voice failed to leave his throat. Castiel folded his notes. "We do not have time for this. We need to find the ocu and rescue the girls before dawn."

"Okay. What happens at dawn?"

"He eats them."

They re-entered the main office as several officers, detectives and a reporter one by one faded from the scene. All prints, clues and photos ended in bags and tagged for someone else to process. Lightwater hovered over a desk where Agent McGee sat, hacking away at a computer. Dean led Castiel in that direction and met Agent David half way.

"You know this is NCIS jurisdiction." she set her assassin's stern look into Dean's eyes. But undeterred, Dean returned the look.

"Your specialty is people. Mine is monsters. So technically, you're in _my_ jurisdiction."

Ziva's eyes turned hard. "We have lost several agents. Gibbs is in the hospital and Agent DiNozzo has been kidnaped."

Dean nodded. "And there are two little girls who will be someone's breakfast if we don't get to them."

"Then what do you suggest we do, Mister Winchester? Hm?"

"Look for the girls, first. I'm sure your co... whatever, would agree with me." Dean didn't care what the lady assassin decided. He was going to take down the Thing-in-the-Closet.

Ziva nodded. "Alright. So how do we track it?"

Cass glanced past Dean and set his eyes on Agent McGee. "I have an idea," he said.

Tim glared at Ziva first then the two hunter-nut cases. So far they managed to convince him to dress in clown fish pajamas and sit in a bed. He could not believe Dean Winchester's charisma. The crazy and his 'angel' friend convinced Mr. and Mrs. Ansel to let them use their son's bedroom to bait the thing that abducted their son. McGee knew without the shadow of a doubt that once Tony heard of this, there'd be no end to his torment.

McGee tried to protest. But Winchester said he wasn't going to use Austin as bait and McGee fit the child profile much better than either Ziva or Castiel. McGee had a sneaky suspicion Dean Winchester picked this idea off some TV show; it's what Tony would have done.

McGee banged his head on the wall. The bedroom nightlight cast creepy shadows. They never found Egbert Ansel and McGee was sorry the parents lost their son to something that wasn't supposed to exit.

But then, the world has changed and many, many things that lived only in myth and legend now walked the earth. Tim briefly wondered if there was such a thing as a bandersnatch, too.

A wind picked up outside. Tim tried to ignore the sounds and told himself he was only imagining things. After all, monsters don't really exist. Not really.

The child in him refused to believe that.

He settled in Egbert's bed. Guilt touched him. Egbert's parents were going to hold a funeral without a body.

Twigs scratched at the window. The wind blew cold through the room's poor insulation. Tim hoped Dean was right; that the boogeyman would not be able to resist their 'treat'.

_Snips of snails_

_and puppy dog tails._

_Of guns and sails_

_and bloodied trails._..

_That's what little boys are made of._

The voice pricked chills up and down McGee's back. His eyes grew wide as a shadow waved across the walls.

_Snap. Crunch. Snap. Crunch._ The sound came from the ceiling and Tim's breath shortened with oncoming fear. The shadow along the left wall tugged itself free the solid image of a figure in black robes stood in the center of the room. Tim swallowed a dry throat as he beheld a creature straight out of an old storybook.

_Snips of snails_

_Of guns and sails_

_and bloodied trails._..

"Hello, Timothy. I am G'Gojelmith and I remember you." Long, twig-like fingers lay over the bed and across McGee's leg. A grey face, twice as long as Tim's faded from dark to grey. The thing had no lips. Its large hollow eyes blinked once and Tim saw faces of victims within them, screaming as though trapped in hell. For all he knew, they really were.

"You're not real," Tim struggled to sound more convinced than he was. The monster beside him laughed, hollow of amusement. "You're NOT!" he insisted, "you're not real! And I'm not afraid of you-"

The freakish thing beside him leered and whispered into his ear: "I am not the sort to fear courage, Timothy McGee. I LIKE adults who are..." the boogeyman cut himself off and turned toward the doorway. Tim swallowed hard, relieved Dean, Ziva and Castiel stood ready to end the moment. McGee jolted with a start when the boogeyman laid his long hideous hand on Tim's shoulder.

The monster hissed. "Mind your own business, _hunter_. I do not fear you!"

Dean wanted to just shoot the thing. Instead, he threw goofer dust at it. G'Gojelmith hissed again and screamed with a very inhuman voice. Fisting another handful of dust, Dean advanced three more steps. "Where's Penny and Minerva, the two girls you abducted earlier?"

"I'm not afraid of YOU! You have no power!" the creature gripped the back of McGee's head and licked the side of his face. "I walk in dreams and dwell among you; the force of despair-"

Ziva took a step forward and tossed a handful of silver nitrate. "_Noestal sem auval."_

G'Gojelmith screamed again, forcing Ziva, Dean and McGee to cover their ears. Castiel stood, unaffected. "Where are the girls you took yesterday?" the angel demanded. He watched the monster claw at the wounds inflicted by the dust Ziva threw.

"NO!" it shouted, "I own this town! All things of the childhood... MINE! You cannot..." again the boogeyman cut itself off in mid-speech. It leaned toward Dean and sniffed. Its coal-black eyes narrowed. "There's something more to you, is there not, Dean Winchester? I smell it on you."

Taken back, Dean blinked. "What?"

"Yes," the monster hissed, pleased. "I smell hot summers and sleeveless T-shirts, of bitter winter mornings and hot cocoa. I smell old books and comfortable silence. I smell a curse, a broken family, of women come and gone. Where is your _brother_, Dean? I should _very much_ like to see him!"

Rage glinted in Dean's eyes. "Who said I had a brother?" he demanded.

G'Gojelmith smiled like a vampire. "You can't fool me, Dean. I can smell innocence like you smell food. I crave it like air. Have you never wondered _why_?"

Dean half-laughed and glanced at Castiel. For once, Sam's sin might save him. "He's far from innocent, buddy." Dean said. He didn't dare disclose Sam's name. "You're sniffing the wrong rabbit hole."

McGee winced when G'Gojelmith's claws sank into his shoulder. The boogeyman backed against the wall and smeared a dribble of blood from its cheek. "You probably think of innocence as something close to perfection; something untouched by darkness, unscarred by bad decisions." It moved its long boney fingers from McGee's shoulder to his head and raked Tim's hair with its long ugly claws. "But that's not innocence, Dean. Innocence is a frame of mind, a type of soul that looks on the world with wonder, that refuses to look upon the dark with a cynical mind; a bottomless well of hope. Innocence is the strength that holds on until the light of dawn. It is the faith that Virtue, Goodness and Love is what keeps the universe together; the candle that glows softly when all other lights die. I want your brother."

Not many things in the world frightened Ziva David. She'd seen the ugly side of the human race. She'd fought men and women in many battles, both personal and political. But this... _thing_ was clearly out of her league. She did not show her fear, not in Dean Winchester's presence or that of his friend and certainly not to the monster. But when the boogeyman grinned and stared at her, Agent David thought it saw straight into her soul. That was bad enough.

But when the thing, the unnatural beast, gripped McGee's hair, its entire form slithered into the darkest crevice in the wall behind it. The monster dragged Tim right into the crevice with no sound at all. Like some bad special effect from a cheesy horror film, Tim's body flopped off the bed like a slice of paper and slid into the boarder line of the floorboard. Ziva screamed and covered her mouth, shocked into inaction. Her blood pressure dropped and she swayed.

Dean, however, did not think twice. He leapt and grabbed Tim by the ankle. Caught up in the magic, Dean, too slipped into the crevice.

Castiel wanted to follow but caught Ziva as her knees buckled.

43


	8. Thyrsos

Thyrsos

Dean woke with a throbbing head and an upset stomach. The world around him slept under the harsh glare of florescent lighting. The unmistakable stench of death crawled along his skin in the damp and cold. His first instinct: call for Sam, second: fill the air with as many expletives as he could spit in a single breath.

He did neither. A distant clank and soft murmur made him hold his voice and breath. Even through stone, the floor vibrated with the resonance of heavy footsteps. All went dead quiet and Dean stayed still. He would have willed his heart to stop beating if possible.

A door groaned on its hinges and ushered an unearthly light into the room. The same heavy footfalls clunked down eight steps. The clink of chains accompanied the encroaching enemy and Dean's muscles tensed, ready to spring to life.

A lisping voice whispered and made Dean think of Gollum. "_Yes. Yes. Hunter. Not the same. No. He looks for the satyr."_

A second voice, normal by comparison, droned in flat tones. "_Not matter. Flesh and blood is flesh and blood. Old and tough or young and sweet. Flesh is flesh._"

"_Not this one. He is protected-"_

"_I care not."_

The 'Gollum' voice sniggered. "_His brother_... i_f we stays the knife, his brother will come for him. Sweet brother!"_

Dean opened his eyes and tried to push off the floor. His body refused to obey. He tried to move his hands; not even his fingers moved.

"_He's awake! He's awake!"_ a thick old chain dangled before his eyes. Its unnatural sheen cast a soft bronze light into Dean's face. The chain's owner dropped the article on the floor and Dean waited for a set of rough hands to grab and bind him.

Dean's warped mind thought it kinky; the whole bondage thing. And this was very much the wrong place and time to conjure images of sleazy women in tight black leather outfits.

The chain slithered. Dean stared it like a cat waiting for another movement. His heart stopped beating. It snaked along the floor again all on its own. And then eyes-one along each chain link-opened. They gazed and blinked asynchronously

back at him. Dean's skin frosted.

Faster than drawing his next breath, the chain attacked Dean, wrapped itself around him like a metallic snake. It lifted the hunter off the floor and slammed him hard against the nearby brick wall. Dean grunted with the impact and grit his teeth as the possessed article forced his arms apart. The chain slowly tightened and gradually constricted his breath.

The chain's master spoke in slow, deliberate words, "Now, now, Ostentagen. Mustn't kill this one. We wait for his brother."

The chain's eyes blinked. _"Dangerous. This hunter_..._ not trifling_."

"We fear no one."

Dean struggled to breathe against the chain's tight grip. He tested his hands once more and visually examined the room's every inch. Children's voices garbled from another room to his right. One girl's tones echoed strongly but she abruptly hushed and he heard nothing more. Dean turned back to the monster and startled when the monster's face hovered scant inches from his own.

"Too close," Dean whispered. "Little breathing space, here?"

The freak, G'Gojelmith, smiled and its humanoid face stretched vertically, a mockery of its humanoid form. With two steps back, the monster hunched over and popped its joints. Dean cringed and winced as the inhuman life form adjusted its biped shape into that of a quadruped. Its heels elongated so that it walked on toes like a frog.

Dean squirmed. "Gross. That explains the marks on the ceilings. You have a thing for crawling around on all fours? Do you bark, too?"

The beast's long nose and teeth neared a breath away from Dean's cheek. "You're a naughty boy, Dean Winchester. My fight was not with you. Count your blessings. I'm going to dispense with the Stepford hunter while we wait for your brother."

Dean grimaced but kept his mouth shut. He watched as the freak climbed the first three steps toward the upper floor. "Hey," he called.

The monster paused and glanced over its shoulder. Its small eyes mirrored bronze-grey like a cat in the odd lighting. "The conversation is over, Dean Winchester."

"Well, yeah. But don't you want to take Alice here with you? Your necklace misses you."

"_Shut up!"_ the chains hissed.

Dean did not even see the boogeyman move. It was just there, once again, in his face. "Lively this one."

"_Ecch. He smells of angels._" the chains replied.

G'Gojelmith laughed from the bottom of his gut. "Would it not infuriate them to discover we desecrated their precious here? Hmm?"

"Forget it," Dean feigned bravado. "The angels are no more interested in me than FBI Agent Ziva. Whatever her last name is."

"The female. Yes. She had delicious fear. We liked the taste of her fear."

"_I want the Ziva! I want the Ziva!"_ the chain demanded. Dean stifled a groan when the possessed object tugged against a deep bruise.

"You have this one." G'Gojelmith answered.

"_No! This is trouble. You want to wait for his brother. I want the Ziva._"

"Silence. I leave. You stay."

Dean thought the whole conversation six kinds of creepy. He wanted to add some clever snark but nothing came to mind and his dry mouth turned reluctant. The closet monster departed and closed the door. The room plunged into near-dark while Dean hung three feet off the floor. His arms ached under the chain's strong grip.

Minutes stretched into Dean's boredom zone. His head dipped a few times when his brain wanted to shut down. But he caught himself. No sleeping. Escape opportunities were not to be missed.

Castiel waited while Ziva struggled to logically process what they just witnessed. Her recovery edged slowly as her gaze fixed into a thousand-yard stare. The angel admitted he too never before witnessed an object or a person of physical substance flatten into a bi-dimensional form and slip into shadows. But Ziva, whose world of espionage, political intrigue and the tactile, found the moment too much. The supernatural lay outside her experience. Cass was aware that most humans seldom, if ever, have contact with the unusual; those things relegated to bedtime stories or movies.

Six minutes passed and Mr. Ansel's footsteps thunked from his household hallway. Cass bowed to speak in Ziva's ear: "Agent David," he said quietly. "Ziva," his voice, soft as a summer breeze.

Castiel's whisper touched something deep inside Ziva. She mentally grasped hold of it and chased it through her muddled mind until her head cleared and she pushed herself up.

"What the hell happened here?" Ansel rumbled in the room. "Where's the other two guys?"

Cass stood and ignored Ansel. He examined the rumpled bed and the darkened floorboard in which Dean and Agent McGee disappeared. Ziva checked herself for weapon and badge. The lady assassin faced Mr. Ansel and tucked her expression into neutral territory. "Mr. Ansel..." she expected words to come forth, free as a bubbling brook. But Ziva barely comprehended what she saw. How could she expect to describe it to someone else? "I-I..."

"You mean you don't know?" Ansel sneered. "How could you not know? You're here in my house, hunting the thing that took my son. You've been here for hours and you don't know?"

Rather than answer Egbert Ansel's father, Ziva turned to Castiel and watched as he traced the window sill with his fingers. "Jimmy," she called, "there might be one other person we can speak to." Mr. Ansel snorted behind her and left the room. Ziva waited a few more seconds. "Jimmy," she called. "Mr. Novak." Agent David rolled her eyes. "_Castiel_." A shiver ran up her spine when his blue eyes nailed her with unusual intensity. Ziva held her mask of neutrality firmly in place. She did not know this clown. But she knew power when she saw it and Jimmy Novak-Castiel-or whoever, commanded a sense of respect much like an unknown weapon. "Listen. When Alex Stepford was interrogated, he said he knew where the Thyrsos was and that it was for sale. Do you think it might help us somehow?"

Castiel hesitated before answering. "Do you think the two are connected? The satyr and the ocu, I mean?"

"I don't know-"

"Because Alex Stepford was hunting the ocu." Cass stared at the empty bed then turned back to Ziva. "Was Alex Stepford staying at a motel here in town?"

The manager at the Mountainscape Inn refused cooperation on the grounds of guest privacy. He did not care whether or not a cop asked for his assistance. Finally Ziva made it perfectly clear that the lack of cooperation would rouse suspicion and instigate an audit by the IRS. Suddenly the manager was more than happy to help.

Ziva drew her gun before leading her companion into the unlit, two-bed room. Castiel followed with a more casual gait.

Stale air mingled with old pizza, flat beer and salt. They found a line of salt and goofer dust bordering the door. A badly made anti-angel sigil marred the door's other side. A hex bag sat next to the TV, another beside the ugly pink bedroom lamp and a third by the phone. Ziva checked the tiny bathroom and frowned at another sigil squiggled over the mirror and again in the shower. Castiel scanned the room for traps before he settled at a small table and the sleek laptop thereon.

The motel manager sneered. "Don't thank me. I do this all the time." he rolled his eyes at the 'graffiti' and at the salt/goofer dust lines along the doors and windows. He snorted with annoyance and departed. Ziva emerged a moment later, three hex bags in hand.

"All I found was Jill squid, more salt and these things. Whatever they are." She threw them on the bed. Castiel paused from keyboarding and puzzled over her words.

"Jill squid?" he echoed.

"Didn't I say that right?"

Castiel found her confusion amusing and smiled ever so lightly. "I believe you are trying to say 'Jack squat'.

Agent David nodded at the correction and folded her arms. "So!" she declared, "Angels know how to use computers?"

"Sam taught me."

"Sam... Winchester?" she raised a brow, skeptical.

"Dean's brother. Yes." Castiel clicked the computer's history and brought up news blurbs. Ziva drew up a second chair, sat in it backward and stared at the screen. Castiel picked one clipping then another before comparing the pages side by side.

"Seems Alex Stepford has been following this monster for quite a while," David deduced. "He did say he tracked something like it in California." she did not return the gaze when Castiel looked at her.

"I... I don't think it's the same monster."

"How so? You think it's a copycat?"

"Not exactly," Cass replied. He picked out another link from the history and several windows blotted the screen, each depicting a different drawing of the boogeyman. "This 'boogeyman' is a world-wide phenomenon, not just regional."

"So... there's different species of this thing, like bats?"

"Exactly." Castiel faced her. "If we're lucky, they might even die the same way."

Her brows raised slightly. "So... we're not dealing with a human at all?"

Cass turned back to the computer. "No. But... I was hoping to find a connection between the ocu-the boogeyman-and the satyr. I'm guessing there is none. We still need to find the Thyrsos."

They stripped the room, the bedding and parts of the carpeting. Nothing. Ziva heaved a weary sigh, frustrated. Castiel was also at a loss.

The lock clicked and the door opened. Ziva whipped out her pistol and pointed it at a young man wearing a scruffy face, a plaid shirt and a machete at his side. He dropped a paper bag filled with foodstuffs and lifted his hands.

"No, no!" he whined. "I'm just... I"m just along for the ride!"

"Sit," Ziva ordered. The little man scurried like a mouse and sat at the end of the nearest bed. His eyes jumped from Ziva to Castiel and back.

"I never killeded anybody!" he whimpered. "I just get the, you know, the answers 'n stuff."

Cass kept his voice level, "we're looking for the Thyrsos."

"The what?" he looked to Agent David for the answer but her eyes darted to Castiel.

"It's a staff," Cass explained calmly. He held his hand about shoulder-high. "It's this tall, wrapped in a vine with special leaves and-"

"Oh! The power staff?"

Cass blinked. "Power staff?"

"Yeah. Yeah. It's... well, I'm not supposed to tell you. Alex, he'll be pissed-"

Ziva planted her foot at the base of the bed between the man's legs and set the gun inches from his nose. "I could arrange for someone to deal with Alex while my friend here deals with you. And believe me, you don't want him to deal with you." she relished his fear-induced respect. "Now what's your name?"

"Paisley," he wibbled.

Ziva snorted. "What kind of a name is that?"

"My first name."

Cass rose from the computer and stood just behind Ziva. "We need that staff, Paisley. You will take us to it."

The mouse of a man rolled his eyes. "I _can't_. Alex said I can't do anything because Ahben will know and the last thing we want is for-"

"Who's Ahben?" Ziva asked sternly.

Paisley shook his head and rolled his eyes again. "Some schmuck Alex knows."

Castiel stepped closer to Ziva. "It's the same person who visited Alex Stepford in jail."

Her dark eyes searched the angel's expression. "You think Ahben has something to do with this?"

"He has not been interrogated, has he?"

"Ahben? No." Ziva paused as her eyes nailed Paisley when his right hand moved. "Should we look for him?"

Castiel settled a noncommital gaze on Alex's partner and shook his head. "No. I think retrieving the Thyrsos is more important at this point."

Ziva protruded her lip, nodded once and fisted Paisley's shirt. "Good idea. You!" she said to the mouse, "with us. Now."

Alex's partner directed Agent David and Castiel to the small park just south of the high school. Several clumps of trees stood a few yards beyond the baseball section. Amid the numbers of douglas fir and ponderosa stood three Subalpine fir, spaced so that it appeared intentional. Paisley approached the tree on the far left. He gently pushed aside a few branches and removed a chunk from the trunk hollowed out to make room for the staff.

Castiel watched, fascinated, while Ziva took the Thyrsos at gunpoint. "Exactly how did Alex Stepford know this was a good place to hide the staff?"

Paisley shrugged. "The subalpine fir doesn't exist where satyrs come from. I mean, yeah, Lebanon has like, cypress trees an' such. But the subalpine is native to this side of the world."

A resounding CRACK in the air struck Ziva. She flipped back with a cry, shocked and bleeding. David rolled and fired in the direction of her attacker.

Her third shot boomed in the air before a pair of solid objects slammed into Castiel. The angel landed several feet away, the staff slipped from his hands and landed between Agent David and Paisley.

Paisley screamed when their attacker emerged from the green shadows of trees; the very same mutated-goat abomination that put Castiel in the hospital. Fortunately for the mouse, the freakish goat ignored him entirely and charged for the angel with all its might and fury.

Castiel jumped in time and kicked the thing in the chest. The beast slid along the ground, unable to resist Cass' unearthly strength. But even Castiel's angelic ability did not put the mad satyr out of commission. It dug its sharp hooves into the ground for leverage and slammed into Cass. But rather than rolling with the impact, Castiel gripped its horns again and twisted its head, intending to break its neck.

The beast roared, its breath heated with an internal fire and the mad satyr pushed with all its might, pushed to either bury Castiel under the earth or smash him against the nearest tree.

Cass could not get enough leverage to keep his feet from sliding along the ground, even as he dug a trench into the summer-baked earth. The freakish beast roared with half a grunt, betraying the fact that it too, found Cass' strength a reckoned force.

Castiel drew all the energy he could for a single blow. His left leg hit a tree root and he used that wrinkle in the ground to hold the satyr at long enough a pause to jab a knee into the monster's jaw. The satyr's teeth clanged, jarring muscles and bones. Castiel flipped his opponent over and tried to paralyze it with his sword.

The satyr screamed, arms and legs flailed like a bug pinned to a board. It spit and spewed poison but all its effort landed on the ground, on its own flesh and in its fur.

"Throw me the staff!" Castiel ordered.

"You can't kill that thing!" Paisley whined. He flinched when Ziva yanked it out of his hands and threw it. She pegged him with a fierce look just to watch him recoil in fear.

Castiel caught the Thyrsos just as the satyr yanked the angelic sword out its gut. The beast rolled out of Cass' reach, jumped to its hooves and bellowed defiance. It spat fire and poison first to distract Castiel then threw the sword. The satyr missed his mark but the weapon sunk into Castiel's right shoulder.

It burned liquid fire and Castiel dropped to his knees. He could not breathe. The beast blustered with a deep, hollow voice. It crouched for a spring. Somewhere the wounded angel heard Ziva calling his name. Cass tugged at the blade, knowing that doing so could claim his life. But he could not take the searing agony.

_BAM! BAM! BAM!_

Ziva tried to distract the beast to give Cass enough time to compensate. Her ploy enraged the monstrosity further and the satyr's one-track mind abandoned its angelic target for the human female. It charged. Cass drew a deep, cold breath and yanked the sword out of his shoulder. The beast roared, its hooves pounded the ground like a hammering heart. Castiel took up the Thyrsos and rammed it hard into the satyr's side as it passed him by.

Cass shoved the Thyrsos through the beast's rib cage from the left and out the right. Castiel collapsed one way, the satyr fell another. It flopped and convulsed. Horrid moans and whines wheezed from the beast's lungs as it died. Exactly three minutes after Cass impaled the monster, its body smouldered, its skin faded to red then ashen grey.

Ziva locked her gun and ran to Castiel. She covered the wound in his arm to contain the bleeding light. "Castiel," she whispered with a trembling voice. "Stay with me." she propped his head on her lap and willed his pain away. He wasn't breathing. "What do I do? What can I do to help?" Cass could not speak. His hand partly lifted and dropped, devoid of strength.

Paisley approached and crouched, watching as helplessly as the NCIS agent. "He really is an angel," the hunter's assistant whispered. "Wow."

"Can you help him?"

Paisley shook his head. "This is like... way uber- university-stuff. I don't know the first thing about angels." he looked at the Thyrsos as Ziva scowled. "However," he added, "crazy as it sounds..." Alex's assistant tried to pull the Thyrsos from the corpse and failed. He swallowed convulsively, produced a small pocket knife and gently scraped off a few wings from the pinecone topping. He eyed the dead satyr twice to ensure the thing wasn't going to suddenly come back to life and eat him. Paisley picked and cut until a tiny fragment of solid light radiated from the staff's head. He carefully dug it out and turned back to Ziva, the tiny, tiny glowing gem in hand. "...this might help."

"What is that?"

"One of Alex's theories." Paisley hovered the fragment over Castiel. He thought about putting it in Cass' mouth. Then thought about simply laying it in his wound. Paisley shrugged. "I don't really know what to do with this."

Ziva glared darkly. "What is it?"

"Uh... something or other to do with the... angel life force, I think. Cuz, you know, angels don't have souls like we do."

"I thought you said you didn't know anything about angels." she said coldly.

"Well, technically I don't. I don't know how to fix a... a broken angel-"

"Put it _somewhere_," Ziva growled. Out of fear, the mouse carefully laid the glowing object on Cass' forehead. Paisley and Ziva watched, waited and when nothing happened, Paisley sighed heavily and sat back, deflated.

Ziva sat, unwilling to give in. She retracted her previous judgement of Jimmy Novak... C_astiel_. There was nothing 'off' or weird about him; he was beautiful. Cass opened his eyes for her and she beheld their unearthly blue and the power simmering just under the surface.

"Castiel?" she asked quietly. His brows furrowed, eyes narrowed in confusion. "It's gone," Ziva answered the unspoken question. "Are you alright?" she removed the glowing pebble as the angel slow rose.

He wavered and pressed a hand to his forehead. "No," he said in a similarly quiet voice. "No, I am not alright." He stared at the ground and absently rubbed his healed and aching shoulder. He glanced at Paisley, and blinked when the mouse forced a quick smile. Castiel closed his tired eyes then lifted them to meet Ziva. "I think I know where to find Agent DiNozzo."

12


	9. Breaking Links

Breaking Links

Languishing under Ostentagen's excruciating grip, Dean passed out more than once. He lost track of time and failed to recall his whereabouts.

Naturally, Dean's first thought: Sam was going to kill him for going alone; second thought: Agent McGee's freaky abduction and counted that as a good excuse. However, it meant he left Castiel on his own. Smacking the back of his head against the brick wall, Dean wracked his oxygen-depleted brains for something, anything, that might disenchant the freakish chain and set him free. But his head remained devoid of ideas. He doubted even Sam would know of anything offhand.

"Good times," he muttered.

"_What's the good times? What's the time?"_

Dean firmly refused to react to the multitude of eyes watching him from the chain links. He carefully considered his answer: "hanging here like a slice of meat," he replied. "It's not very entertaining."

"_No. Yes, we stay until _G'Gojelmith _says go."_

"Yeah..." Dean moaned. "I'll bet you do everything he says. The Igor to his Doctor Franky." Dean tucked all expression away when several links slipped off his bruised midriff and organized themselves into the outline of a face.

"_G'Gojelmith hunts. We help. We eat. That is the way of things."_

"So... what about me?"

"_Shut up!"_ the chain hissed with lips comprised of links. Ostentagen's eyes blackened with widened pupils. "_We don't like you. Nasty thing! Protector. Guardian. Vigilante. You stink of angel. We wait for your brother. We wait for the Ziva._"

Dean rolled his eyes. "The Ziva. I get it. I should warn you, though: she's not innocent and she'll eat you for breakfast. I've seen her act-" Dean cut himself off. A look of horror curled his lip. "What the hell am I talking to you for?"

A solid _clang_ echoed from upstairs and the chain's makeshift head swung away. The links unraveled and stretched as far as they could without releasing Dean. "_He works._"

"Yeah." Dean goaded. "And he's doing it all without you." Dean flinched when the chain snapped like a whip and marked Dean's right cheek with deep hot pain. The links rearranged themselves in the form of a serpent's head.

"_You think and you say but you do not know._"

Dean nodded. Blood trailed down his face and seeped into his collar. "Right. It takes a genius to realize your partner in the next room is feeding and here you are, stuck holding me. Sucks to be you."

The animated chain hovered in front of Dean and the hunter did not miss the subtle loosening of his imprisonment. He stayed very still, hoping to maintain the reverse logic. The chain might be intelligent, but it was still a chain.

"_I wait for the Ziva_."

Dean batted his eyes in a sympathetic gesture. "Oh, yeah. I totally get that. After all, you don't want to spoil your appetite before dinner. I'm sure that G'Gojelmith isn't into sharing, anyway. He'll just eat everything else and that means... um... the Ziva is the only thing you'll get." The chain unraveled around Dean's legs but Dean remained completely still. He even huffed in half a laugh: "of course, you might get to eat me. I don't think I'm on G'Gojelmith's menu."

The chain hissed. "_You stink of angel. Nasty. We hate the snow!_"

"Yeah. Alright, alright. Don't get all Yosemite Sam." Dean kept his voice even but submissive enough to make the thing think it won.

A little girl's scream tugged at Dean's heart and boiled his blood. The chain hovered, undecided. It kept Dean prisoner, but its attention focused on the door upstairs.

Reining in his temper, Dean cleared his throat and maintained his causal voice. "So, what do you think is going on upstairs? What's he doing?"

The chain snaked back to Dean. "_He does his things."_

"Yeah? Huh. Has he, uh, does he do that a lot? Like starting a movie without you? Do you get to play with your dinner like he does?" Dean watched the chain's 'head' sway between him and the door. Push it one more step, he told himself: "So, he gets to eat more than you do, too?" Dean held his breath and froze when the chain's end shot at him and came all but precious centimeters from his eyes. It hissed and unwound its long form from his body.

Dean dropped like a rock as the chain slithered up the stairs and out the door. Up! He told himself. GET UP! Bruised and numb from lack of circulation, Dean staggered up and fell back to his knees. His feet and hands tingled, red and swollen from lack of circulation. UP! He tried again with similar results. "Come on!" he growled at himself. Pushing again, Dean forced his aching body forward. He moved deliberate, like an old man; one numb foot in front of the other until he reached the bottom of the stairs. A pin-prick sensation washed through his muscles and by the time he reached the door, tactility returned to his extremities.

The door opened to a skyless, alien world. A marble of grey and white swirled overhead. Collections of metal and wooden storage bins squatted everywhere or conglomerated into great towering stacks. Dean crept ahead with the silence of a cat. Peering round the last metal chest on his left, Sam's brother counted several dozen doors; no walls, just doors. Black an dred cryptic symbols etched the wooden face of each door. Oddly enough, four wooden boards obstructed one particular door. Dean scanned the rest of his new environment.

Although it was not cold, great sheets of webbed ice towered the rest of the boogeyman's domain like monoliths attesting to ages and ages of use. The room stretched into chambers as far as Dean's vision went, perhaps even further. Dean swallowed at the sight. He spotted body parts peeking between the web strings; a hand there, someone's shoulder over there. The ocu victimized all ages and sizes, not just children.

Speaking of the boogeyman, the monster's voice carried several yards from Dean's right, booming a demand. "What are you doing here? You were ordered to remain with Dean Winchester."

Dean barely heard the chain's hissing pitch and guessed the Ostentagen made its case. Ignoring the conversation, he peered carefully over the bins and to his relief, a maze of large metal and wooden containers trailed in the voices' direction.

"..._the Ziva! I eat only the Ziva? You take more. I work like you."_

"I will not side with you, Ostentagen! Your job was to hold Dean Winchester! Return to him or you'll get nothing!"

Several bins closer brought Dean to the culprits and by default, Agent McGee and the missing girls. Penny sniffled and cried silently. Minerva glared icy-hot at the ocu while McGee lay prone at the monster's feet.

"_You take it all. I get only the Ziva. Only the Ziva!"_

Minerva laughed, clear and unafraid. Dean had to blink twice, amazed at the girl's level-headed response. He searched for options, for exits, possible weapons, any means to start and finish a fight. Obviously a frontal attack was not viable. He had no weapons nor did he know how to waste the ocu.

Chill, he told himself. Opportunities always pop up sooner or later. But waiting: not his strong suite.

"Why you laugh, little girl?" G'Gojelmith demanded.

"Your pet chain doesn't trust you anymore."

G'Gojelmith faced the young girl with red-faced ferocity. "Silence! Else I'll reintroduce you to Ostentagen!"

"I'm not afraid of you," Minerva responded calmly. "I know where I'm going and I'm taking you with me."

"Not likely, pretty thing," G'Gojelmith cooed. "_You_ started this whole affair. Your blind, naive belief that you could hide or that pitiless mother might be spared the retribution due her for her deeds."

Dean spotted Agent McGee's knife; a glint of precious light peeked from under his pant leg. But Dean doubted the object of possibility was silver.

"Shut up about her!" Minerva screamed.

The ocu matched her volume: "we've been after you since Tolgomostov picked up your scent. Of _course_ it's your fault! You knew and you said nothing! She's _dead_. You're still trapped in this body and you're _mine_!"

Minerva's voice dropped in defeat. "Fine. Then release Penny and the NCIS agent. You don't need them."

The ocu scoffed. "No. I _earned_ them. And then I'll take Sam Winchester. I might consider sparing you long enough to help me."

Minerva swept down and grabbed McGee's knife. She stood between the ocu and Penny. Dean crouched for a spring when Ostentagen spotted him. It knocked Dean clear off his feet, wrapped itself tightly around his legs and struck his face three times. It caught his hands and tightened its links around his knees.

Dean arched his back as the metallic serpent constricted circulation in his hands. He gasped for breath.

"_Evil, evil little orphan!"_ it hissed. "_We will bind you to a stake and bleed you. All things will see hunters not so powerful. I will devour you!"_

Penny screamed and Dean struggled against the taut bindings. Out the corner of his eye he watched the ocu shift into its hideous four-legged alternate shape. Minerva knocked the little girl out of the way as the monster charged. McGee finally awakened. He rolled to the right as the ocu leapt for the kill. But just as quickly, McGee grabbed the beast's right hind leg and grunted when the monster stumbled and missed impaling the agent by half an inch.

"Run!" Agent McGee ordered.

Minerva grabbed Penny's hand and searched for an escape route. No such luck. She just ran. The boogeyman roared and his mouth doubled in size then tripled. A long tongue swept out, sticky like a frog's. But it missed the girls.

A doorway in the middle of nowhere burst open in an explosion of light. Ostentagen hissed and its hundreds of eyes zeroed on the new arrivals. Ziva, Paisley and Castiel stepped in.

"_Eeeee!"_ the chain tugged, scraped and bruised Dean as it dragged him toward its long-awaited target. In spite of his bound, numb, freezing hands, Dean managed to grab hold of the chain's 'head'.

"Ziva!" he called, out of breath and nearly out of strength, "stay back!"

The chain's head turned back to Dean. Its links split apart and revealed a sub-dimensional mouth filled with teeth the length of a man's arm.

_CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! _Ziva fired her handgun. Ostentagen shrieked and writhed. It slammed its head against one crate then another. Dean slid back and forth, unable to free himself from the object's grip.

Castiel aimed at Dean's captor but the ocu itself twisted round and charged for the angel. It plowed into Cass while Ostentagen dropped Dean and shot its entire length at Ziva. Paisley screamed and ran for cover.

As G'Gojelmith rammed Castiel into a door, McGee scrambled to Ziva's aid. He landed but two feet from her before the chain snapped an end in McGee's face. Timothy dropped and rolled in pain as blood flooded freely from his wound cheek.

Castiel gasped for breath. The ocu's malevolence oozed around him. He struggled against the darkness to protect the remaining shards of his Grace.

"What be this?" the ocu cooed. "An angel fighting alongside mortals? The world truly has changed. How's the war in Heaven, Angel? Hm? Not a part of it?" the boogeyman followed Castiel's silent gaze to Dean who lay struggling for breath and recovery. "Ah," the ocu said smoothly. "I see. Well, say farewell to him." the monster's mouth enlarged then doubled in size. It paused and Castiel exhaled as he struggled to surface above the engulfing evil.

His face pinched with confusion when the ocu did not move for several seconds; waiting.

Light flared in mid air a second time. Tony staggered in first and collapsed. Alex Stepford stomped after and Ahben followed. The doorway zipped closed and Alex pointed a Johnson 1836 flintlock pistol at G'Gojelmith. "I've been tracking your stench since New Orleans. It's time to die."

G'Gojelmith boomed in a deep-belly laughter. Dean rolled his eyes as the first thing that came to mind was a replay of Jabba the Hutt.

"Alex!" Paisley's voice interrupted the moment as the mouse of a man emerged from hiding. He smiled like a dog anticipating praise. He held aloft the Thyrsos with a nod.

Alex drew a Walther p22 with his left hand and shot his assistant between the eyes. Then Alex shot at the ocu with the Johnson flintlock. The ocu howled and dissipated into a fizzle of dark particles. They hovered over Castiel one moment then whirled for Alex like a swarm of killer bees. Alex produced a flask and showered a cloud of goofer dust between himself and the enraged monster.

"Ostentagen!" G'Gojelmith called. "Take down this reprobate!"

The chain's eyes stared at an unconscious Agent David then veered toward Alex Stepford. "_Mine_," the chain whispered. "_I eat or I do naught_."

G'Gojelmith did not argue and Ostentagen accepted the silence as permission. It unraveled its many links from Ziva and sailed through the air, whipping and chinking in glee.

As Alex dexterously dodged the attack, Ahben raced around the fight. He roughly grabbed Tony with unnatural strength and dragged the agent past Dean and bolted for the Thyrsos. But Castiel beat him to it.

Shoving Tony aside, Ahben gripped the Thyrsos and tried to wrench it from Castiel. "It's MINE, _Bene Ha Elohim_!"

Cass twisted the staff and struck Ahben's temple with one end. He yanked it out of the satyr's grip and kicked the creature's midriff. Castiel held the staff head between them. "I'm not a half breed," he snarled.

Ahben's head dithered and his teeth enlarged. But rather than shifting into his beast form, Ahben split in two and from his humanoid form stepped the freakish mutant goat. Slick from the separation, the thing staggered a moment then roared. Its mouth and throat glowed with an internal fire.

Ahben's humanoid form laughed. Then both his halves spoke: "You can't kill us, angel! We are born OF YOU!"

Dean sprang with all his strength and clamped an arm around Ahben's neck. The beast roared again then bellowed when Castiel snapped the Thyrsos in half over his knee. Dean snapped Ahben's neck.

But as Ahben said, death by conventional means did not affect him. His head snapped back into place. Dean broke his neck again. Ahben jerked his bones back together, stumbled backward and fell. Dean smack his head hard against a wooden chest.

Ahben turned over and planted his long hands around Dean's neck. The satyr's face curled with madness as its thumbs sought out the softest area. But a flash of light caught his attention scant seconds before a cold blade sunk into the satyr's neck. Ahben yelled, abandoned Dean and charged for Ziva.

In spite of the beating and exhaustion Tony recently endured, he pushed himself up and clocked the satyr. Ahben turned into the stone-hard right cross and bound up his own fist for a killing strike. The creature did not see Dean jump to his feet. He did not see Castiel deflect a strike from his opponent.

Dean gripped the satyr's fist, yanked the monster off its center and kneed Ahben's abdomen twice. The satyr oofed with impact before it barreled its head into Dean's midriff. Dean absorbed the move with practiced ease and cracked his doubled fists into the small of Ahben's back. Just before he shoved Ahben to the ground, Dean watched as the ocu's pet chain caught Alex. The hunter dropped his flintlock handgun and shouted curses at G'Gojelmith.

From her place beside Agent McGee and Penny, Minerva ran head-first for the fallen weapon. Dean flipped Ahben over and broke the satyr's neck once more. With a mean gleam in his eye, the satyr cracked his bones back together rolled his body over and assaulted Dean with a hard southpaw power punch.

Dean's vision blazed white for a second or two. But it did not keep him from re-engaging the fight. He shoved the beast aside, jumped to his feet and kicked the satyr's jaw as the monster rose to meet Dean toe-to-toe. The monster flailed at the impact of Dean's steel-toed boot. Dean grabbed the beast by the collar, head-locked him and turned him toward Castiel. The angel twirled both ends of the broken thrysos and sank them into the satyr's chests simultaneously. The beast's two halves dropped to the ground in spasms until their skin turned from olive-white to a toneless grey. The mutant goat's eyes sank inward as its internal fire consumed it.

Dean bent over, hands on knees and spit blood on his dead opponent.

"LEAVE THE DAMNED GUN ALONE, YOU BITCH!"

Alex's scream caught everyone's attention. Stepford struggled against G'Gojelmith's pet chain while Minerva picked up the flintlock and pointed it at the ocu. The boogeyman laughed as Tony, bone-weary and trembling, crawled to the girl's rescue.

"Minerva!" Penny's little voice cried. "Don't! Don't!"

Dean watched the half-second as the older girl cast a sad look at Castiel. She mouthed an 'I'm sorry', pointed the ancient gun at the ocu and fired.

Penny screamed. The enchanted chain dropped Alex as its form dissolved into ash. G'Gojelmith shrieked and ghosted over Minerva as its molecules dispersed. The girl let loose a single, brief scream before the two of them faded out of sight.

The area, now devoid of monsters, stood silent as its remaining occupants stared dumbfounded at the flintlock pistol. Alex pulled himself together, scampered to his feet and swept up his lost weapon. With a wink in Dean's direction, Stepford produced a small rounded object. He smashed it on the floor and a similar gateway opened. He stepped through it and vanished.

Sheriff Lightwater arrived a few moments ahead of the ambulance and rescue truck. McGee stepped out the magical gateway first, carrying a weeping little Penny in his arms. Castiel followed, carrying Ziva who slipped in and out of consciousness. Tony and Dean brought up the back end of the line. Lightwater parked his vehicle and opened the back door. Austin slid out the car and raced for his sister as the sheriff strolled more leisurely toward the battle-weary group.

"Where's Minerva?"

Dean shook his head and kept his lips sealed. The children did not need to hear anything of her at the moment. Tony winced and rubbed an aching shoulder. "I think we should get a raise for this one. You got a cell phone on you, Sheriff? Need to call my boss." a familiar smack snapped the back of Tony's head. "Ow!" he winced and rubbed at the non-existent pain. He batted eyes at Agent Gibbs. "Hi, Boss. I was just going to phone you."

Agent Gibbs, clearly a run-away from the hospital, watched three EMT's lift Ziva into the ambulance. "Mind filling me in, DiNozzo?"

"Me and Mc-child sitter there just stepped off a page from Wonderland, Boss. Not sure if I should say anything at all."

Agent McGee's face lit in a subtle smile. "Tony got his ass kicked by Stepford and his friend."

"Did not," Tony argued.

"Oh," McGee countered. "So all those bruises and cuts are from you tripping over your own two feet. At least Castiel here saved your butt by taking care of that goat-thing."

"What goat-thing?" Tony snorted. "I can't put that in my report! And neither can you, Mc-Elf."

Ignoring the banter, Agent Gibbs laid eyes on first on a ruffled, battered Dean Winchester then Castiel and thought it odd that Tony used Novak's self-imposed angelic name. Well, Gibbs retracted, maybe not self-imposed. He knew what he saw. Not that he could explain it, but he could not refute what he witnessed. He crossed his arms and firmly set his face to a non-committal expression. "I'm under the impression that Alex Stepford escaped."

Dean nodded once. "I let him go. For now."

"I should arrest you for obstruction, among half a dozen other things. But something tells me you don't do well in cages, Dean." he skipped a beat then added, "I'm sorry about your dad. I'm sure he was a fine man."

That earned a slight smile from Dean. "M' dad was my hero, Agent Gibbs. Taught me everything he knew."

Gibbs returned the light smile with a strong sense of respect in his grey eyes. He extended a hand and Dean gripped it with a strong shake. "Good luck to you, Dean."

"You too."

Gibbs nodded and signaled for Tony and McGee to leave. Gibbs followed but not before offering Castiel a quiet thank you.

Dean and Cass watched the NCIS team depart for the sheriff's office and the hospital. Castiel tucked a hand in his jacket pocket and produced the fragment of his Grace.

"I can't get it to come back to me," he said sadly. Dean turned to the angel who reminded Sam's brother of a little boy with a broken toy.

Dean removed the necklace given him by Clouded Moon and unscrewed the cap from the tiny hand-carved crystal vial. He offered it to Castiel who dropped the tiny glowing fragment into it.

Dean waited for Cass to take the necklace then held it back. "Know what? I'd better keep it, Cass. You're enough a target as it is."

"Dean-"

"Don't argue with me. You and Sam... just don't argue with me." Dean stepped back as Sheriff Lightwater approached. He looked every bit as worn as Dean felt but the sheriff still postured for the sake of his badge.

"I needed to thank you for a thousand small things-about Stepford and whatnot. But um, what happened to Minerva?"

Dean hesitated to answer: "she disappeared and took the ocu with her."

"What do you mean 'disappeared'? Was she... I don't know... a witch or something?"

Castiel shook his head, confused. "No. Minerva was a goddess. That's how she knew me. All those things she spoke in the interrogation room... you assumed she was lying or evading the truth?"

Lightwater pinched his face, puzzled. "She was just a little girl."

Dean nodded. "Big surprises can come in small packages, Sheriff."

"She was in hiding," Castiel added. "Something or someone hunted her. Probably more than one ocu, but I suspect something more powerful than the ocu was also after her. I doubt she's dead. Wherever she went, Minerva took the child killer with her."

Lightwater pursed his lips and scratched the back of his head. "Well... your car is still at the office. NCIS will be gone in a few hours but the feds will be here by mid morning." The dispatcher called from the sheriff's car and Lightwater excused himself. He checked in, assured his new crew everything was fine. When he turned back, Dean and Castiel were gone.

24


	10. Tourmaline

Supernatural: Chain Reaction

Tourmaline

All the tension and stress dissipated from Dean's shoulders and face the moment he spotted the main gates of Bobby's wrecking yard. Three quarters shy of the property, he slowed the car and he and Castiel stared in bewilderment. Locks and chains secured the large gates. Dean parked the car and stepped out. Even leaving Sam here alone, it was seldom for Bobby to lock up the property.

Castiel exited the Impala and trailed along the weed-strewn fence from one end to another. He scrutinized the fence boards for security breaches; a possible crack in a ward or a damaged rune. Dean whipped out his cell phone and waited three then four rings as the angel turned to him.

"Nothing is broken that I can see, Dean."

Sam's brother nodded when Bobby finally answered.

"_What are you doing callin' me at the hospital, ya idgit?" _the older hunter snarled.

"You're not home," Dean replied.

"_I told you I had to take Sam to the hospital."_

"Bobby, that was three days ago."

"_Yeah, genius, and we're still here."_

Dean swallowed hard. "Bobby-"

"_Will you shut up and get up here? I ain't saying nothin' over the phone!"_

Dean grimaced. "Where are you?" he listened as Castiel knelt at the gate. Marco and Roxi greeted him with whimpers, wagging tails and kisses. Dean clapped his phone closed. "Cass-"

"We need to feed the dogs, Dean."

"Yeah. And we need to gather a few things for Sam and check messages."

Castiel stood and with a wiggle of his finger, the locks and chains fell away. "What's wrong?"

"Bobby didn't say. We gotta head off to Specialty Hospital."

"Should we bring Marco?"

"Nah. We got you."

In spite of his confusion, Castiel did not ask what Dean meant. He pushed the gate open as Dean steered the car into the yard then closed it again. Marco and Roxi trotted and hopped around the angel as he approached the house.

They left the property and found Bobby half an hour later. The old man's pale face sagged with weariness. His eyes lit with relief but lack of sleep bloodied their edges. Before speaking to Dean and Castiel, Singer scanned the room for eavesdropping, as per his honed skills. His cheeks tightened.

"They tried something else on Sam day b'fore yesterday. Don't ask me what cuz I can't pronounce it. He just..." Bobby sighed with a slight shudder. "He just dropped. He didn't have a heart attack per se. But the hospital's entire staff came to the rescue."

"So what did they put him on this time, Bobby?" Dean asked impatiently.

"Uh..." Bobby produced a small folded piece of paper from his jacket and read it with wearing eyes. "Anapraxamilitine. Said it worked well for some serious nut job in Florida."

"I need to see Sam," Dean didn't know which way his emotions swayed. He wanted to get his brother out of the sterile environment, away from needles and prying physicians. But he wanted to keep Sam under expert care.

Cass nudged Sam's brother. "Dean," he said softly. All three men turned to the waiting room entrance as a forty-something woman stepped in bearing a clipboard and a cautionary smile.

"Sam Morrison's family?"

Dean turned on some of his charm. "I'm Sam's brother, Dean. This is our Uncle Bobby. And," he almost did not even skip a beat, "this is our brother Castiel." Dean did not need to see to know Cass gazed at him with gratitude.

The redhead closed the space between herself and the three men and held out a hand in greeting. "I'm Dr. Galway, Sam's physician."

"Can we see Sam?" Dean instantly asked.

Galway drew a deep breath, her eyes steady on Dean. "Yes. _But_ I need a few answers from you. And if you please, tell me the truth. What happened to your brother?"

Castiel answered out of turn: "you cannot handle the truth. Not only would you disbelieve it, you'll never comprehend its entire measure."

Dean shrugged and nodded. "Exactly as he said."

Offended, Galway hardened her eyes. "Gentlemen, I have treated prisoners of war, survivors of concentration camps. There is nothing you can tell me that would surprise me."

Both Cass and Bobby looked away as Dean nailed her with a killer's gaze. "There are some things other people do not need to know-"

Her turn. She tilted her head, her eyes matched Dean's measure-for-measure. "You can either tell me... _Mr. Morrison_ or I can sift through your thick-headed skull and get it out myself. Your choice."

Castiel turned uneasy and kept his voice leveled. "Dean. She's an angel."

"And you didn't tell me... why?"

"He did not know," Galway answered. "He could not have. I am a ministering angel. Our work stays behind the curtain." she blinked slowly. "You're Dean? You're Castiel? Then my patient is Sam Winchester. Am I not correct?"

Words failed to surface for Dean. The first thing that hit his mind: the war in Heaven. He worried that someone might swoop down and take Sam. Dean tried to mask the cold lump in his stomach.

Castiel spread his invisible wings and tilted them just enough to let the doctor know he was on guard. But Galway eyed him with little concern. She glanced over her shoulder for prying eyes or an upturned ear. Then she spread her own set of wings and drew them slightly inward, encompassing herself and the men with a shield of privacy.

"How is it that Sam is alive?" She read Dean's uncertainty. Castiel obviously knew but kept his lips closed. Bobby followed their example and sent his gaze on the floor. "Does this have to do with those other people who mysteriously returned also?"

That caught Bobby's attention. He distinctly recalled the conversation with Mike and Abby about reports regarding people who died and returned:

"_Just how many accidents are we talking here?"_

"_So far 'cross the country, there's been seventeen. As many as two people have walked, scott-and-booboo-free." Mike's eyes shot between Bobby and Dean. "Three more have occurred in the last three months. Investigators have put a lid on the cases. Never know what stories the wacko rummer mills might invent."_

"We don't know," Cass answered quietly.

Dr. Galway eased her posture. "I'll let you see Sam and while you're visiting, I'll see if there's something I can do about his medication regimen. Fair enough?"

Castiel summoned a smile because Dean could not speak. The angel stood beside his charge and folded a wing around his friend. He laid a hand on Dean's shoulder and guided him out the waiting room, leaving Bobby to handle the details with the finance department.

Dean's thoughts drifted. He paid no attention to their whereabouts or anyone passing by. Although the hunt in Montana turned successfully, he should not have left Sam. Maybe he needed to take a good hard look at his life. He chose Sam. He could have left Sam with Mike and Abby O'Connor and remained with Lisa, living half a life. But the older Dean grew, the stronger he concluded that Sam was as integral a part of his life as sleeping and breathing.

Five steps further hunter and angel found Sam's room, lit only by the corridor. Dean batted his eyes and swallowed the stone in his gullet.

Cass spoke in a quiet, even tone: "would you like me to stay out here?"

Dean's eyes gazed at him with some confusion while he battled for self control. "No," he barely spoke and entered the room first. At least Sammy wasn't physically injured or pre/post-operation. He did not have more than one IV attached. He lay peacefully, though Dean knew Sam slept under the spell of medicine.

Castiel wanted to tell Dean it was not his fault. But platitudes, truthful or not, only pissed Dean off. "Perhaps I will get some coffee," he offered.

Dean only nodded; the best he could do at the moment. He watched Cass depart and hovered over the bed, unable to decide to sit down or remain standing. He wanted to say something but nothing significant came to mind. He swallowed oncoming tears.

"Hey, Sammy," his voice betrayed him. "Looks like I've been a bad boy. I went to Darby, Montana and didn't even bring you a T-shirt, little bro. Don't worry, though. Me and Cass fed the dogs before we got here. Heh, I thought Marco was going to lick Castiel to death." Dean choked. "God, Sammy, I'm so sorry."

Sam moaned and drew a deep breath. "Dean," his voice slurred with sleep. "If you apologize one more time, so help me, I will slide off this bed and slap you like a gurl." he sighed deep and long. "Either that, or I'll break out into a Disney song."

Dean picked up Castiel's footsteps and smiled, feeling better. He took his cup and saw that Cass held a second cup. "I don't think Sam is allowed to drink anything with caffeine, Cass."

"It's for me."

Mildly but pleasantly surprised Dean batted his eyes. "Oh."

"How are you, Sam?" Castiel drew a sip of hot coffee with cream and sugar. He made nothing of it, but it made him glad that drinking it made Dean feel more comfortable.

"Right now, I can't feel my body. I guess they gave me some good stuff. Glad you guys didn't see me earlier, though. You say Marco 'nd Roxi 'r okay?"

Dean gulped more coffee. "I think they about gave Castiel a bath when he fed them." Sam weakly smiled and closed his eyes. Dean wondered how many nightmares his brother suffered in his absence.

Then he remembered the amulet given him by Clouded Moon. Handing his coffee to Cass, Dean removed it and laid it around Sam's.

Little Brother's eyes lit with a weary smile. "Not much of a T-shirt, Dean." he said weakly.

"It's more your size, Samantha."

"Okay. Hope you got Cass one, too."

Dean found his brother's hand and gave it a squeeze. Sam wouldn't let go when Dean moved away. He squeezed again as Sam drifted to sleep. The tourmaline dragon glowed softly against Sam's chest. Dean leaned for a closer look then glanced at Castiel to see if the angel saw it too.

Cass finished his coffee and smiled. They were going to be just fine.

End.


End file.
